Saving the Fox V: Al mal tiempo, buena cara
by Therrae
Summary: Sometimes all you can do is just keep going, putting your best face on it and hoping your best will be good enough.
1. Sept 17, 1806

Here we are again! Thanks to everyone who has been reading and giving me feedback!

As usual, I own nothing, profit from nothing, and breathlessly await the DVDs from those who do!

Special thanks to Seneselesswords for her help with the title.

**Sept 17, 1806**

The kitten's eyes were newly open, unfocused, and a brilliant blue. The child's eyes were brown, and, at the moment, only for the kitten. He cradled the little bundle of grey and white fur upside-down and rubbed its belly. Diego, fully two feet away-a new record, surely-watched proudly.

Senor Alvarez cleared his throat. "Don Diego, have you given any thought to what you will do with him when you get home? Or will you simply present him to your father with no particular plan in mind?"

Diego looked up sharply. "You agreed it would be wrong to leave him behind. We couldn't find even one single-"

"And I still agree," he said reasonably. "But now that you have taken this responsibility, you must consider what comes next. He is not a puppy or a pony, he is a _child_, and it is all very well for him to play with kittens now, here on the deck, but he will someday be a man, and he must be prepared for life."

"If he were a pony, Diego would have no trouble training him," Gilberto observed caustically. That earned him a dark look from the tutor.

For the first time, though, Diego looked a little uncertain. "He's not the first deaf child in the world. There must be...a procedure," Diego fumbled. "A pedagogy."

"No, there are...I think...two, in fact. The German method, which focuses on teaching oral speech, and the French method, which translates spoken language into, well, manual language. With gestures."

Diego looked up. "Like the hand language the Indians use for trade."

Senor Alvarez nodded. "Or the signs monks use during silent hours of the day." He sighed at the boy. "The swelling in his throat has just gone down enough for him to eat normally. Surely, it is too soon to attempt speaking..."

"He's never made a sound," Diego said. "Not in his sleep, not in pain, not weeping. I don't think he can."

Gilberto took a deep breath. "Diego. You have to consider...the blow he took to the head. He might be addled."

As expected, Diego bristled at the suggestion. "He's not!"

This conversation was one Gilberto had been putting off and Senor Alvarez and Juan had been avoiding entirely, but someone had to breach the topic because Diego was far too sentimental to look at this rationally. "You don't want to face the prospect, I know. But you must consider-"

"No, thank you, I don't need to consider." He pointedly turned away from Gilberto. "How much do you know about the French method? I suppose it would be too much to hope for, that you'd have a book?"

"I'm afraid I know very little. I had a friend who once tutored three deaf children for a family in Barcelona. But that was years, ago. I don't even know where he is now."

"Juan?" Diego asked. "Do you know anything about the Indian hand language?"

Juan shrugged. "I can barter for otter pelts if what you have to trade for them is iron pans, wool blankets, or steel knives."

Diego sighed heavily. "Then we will have to invent signs. At least to start with."

"If you are right about his mind being intact, once he starts, he will do_ that_ very quickly. But you may want start working on his literacy. Because he cannot hear the words, spelling will only be an arbitrary association of symbol groups with objects. I fear it will be slow going."

"His mind is fine," Diego said firmly. He walked around the child and squatted in front of him. At once the boy looked up. Diego smiled. The boy watched him solemnly. He had not smiled in the days since they'd found him, but Gilberto could not bring himself to fault him for that. He couldn't be more than five or six, he had probably seen his family killed, and he had no hope of going home.

Diego tapped the grey kitten and held out his palm. "Please," he said, an automatic politeness that meant nothing to the recipient. It wasn't needed: small hands at once offered up their prize. Diego smiled and patted the boy's shoulder, shooting a triumphant look at the others.

But triumph quickly faded to uncertainty: what now?

Diego looked down at the kitten. He turned it so the face was toward the boy and held it carefully in view. With one hand he guided the boy to stroke the fine whiskers. Diego handed back the kitten, but when the boy's eyes dropped to look at it, he tilted his chin gently back up and then pinched out pantomime whiskers beside his own mouth.

Could it be that easy?

No. The boy reached out and touched Diego's face. Gently, Diego guided the hand back to the kitten's whiskers. Slowly, he pointed to the cat and traced the sign again. The boy's earnest regard didn't flicker.

"'Berto, come here, sit beside me."

Knowing what was coming, Gilberto came and sat. Without waiting for prompting, he held out a hand imperiously and then made Diego's sign for cat. Diego reached into the battered box that held the rest of the litter and produced an orange kitten which he handed over. "Let's hope it doesn't have fleas," Gilberto muttered.

Diego ignored that and repeated the procedure for asking for a cat. In response, Gilberto shook his head. He wouldn't. Diego asked again, more strongly. With a show of false reluctance, Gilberto handed it over.

The child gasped. The grey kitten he was holding slid through his fingers and dropped to his lap. Diego waited. With unsteady hands the child asked for the kitten Diego was holding. Beaming, Diego gave it to him. "Would anyone care to comment on the capacity of his mind?" he crowed.


	2. Sept 19, 1813

**Sept 19, 1813**

Sunshine tossed his head and ran across the meadow so swiftly and lightly that he might almost have been flying. The illusion was only broken by the regular thump of hoof beats, a distraction that Felipe still found unsettling, even after over a year of hearing it.

Sunshine sprang over the trickle that was Oak Creek and dashed up the hill on the other side. At the top, Felipe reined him and turned to look back.

The meadow was so covered with flowers that the returning green was scarcely noticeable. Although no one was quite ready to declare the drought 'ended,' it had rained at least a little every night for the past week and southern California had returned to life a flowering paradise. The breeze was sweet and warm. Little birds scooted along the ground.

The only thing that spoiled the perfection of the morning was the guilty reminder that it was unfair for Felipe to be enjoying a perfect ride when Diego was still forbidden to mount a horse at all.

Diego had been steadily lobbying to ride since Sunday. Don Alejandro listened to his requests and politely declined. Diego himself might be recovering nicely from his illness this summer, but his father was still anxious and distrustful. He could not forget that while the complications might have receded, the underlying condition hadn't really improved. He was - and Felipe would never repeat this to anyone - simply too afraid to allow even small risks.

Gilberto might have changed his father's mind, if he'd cared to try. At the moment, though, Gilberto believed that Diego wasn't able to clearly judge his own capabilities. Or, no, perhaps it wasn't Diego's _perceptions_ so much as his priorities he was unsure of. Diego was willing to take risks with his own health and safety that Gilberto found unacceptable.

No one had asked Felipe's opinion. He thought Gilberto was being naive, though: if Diego took it into his head to do something dangerous and stupid, being forbidden to ride wasn't going to stop him. Even if he couldn't talk his way past Juan or Raul in the stable (and, indeed, he might _not_ be able to get around Juan), Toronado was waiting under the house, wasn't he? No one could 'forbid' him that.

Anyway, Diego was probably safe enough, especially on as gentle a mount as Esperanza. The dizzy spells were only coming once or twice a day now, and Diego usually didn't bother to acknowledge them any more. He continued walking or talking or stirring his experiment, the only sign of distress a small frown or a left hand reaching out for a table or wall to touch briefly for balance. He'd be all right in the saddle. As long as someone was close by when he mounted or dismounted, he would probably be fine then, too.

Felipe spun Sunshine and took off back down the slope. Even if he were free to ride to town, Diego couldn't ride like this. And it seemed unfair to enjoy it so much, knowing that; it had been Diego who had taught him to ride, who had given him his horse, who had shown him joy and peace and -

The wind stung his eyes and chilled his cheeks. Tears, again. The last thing Diego either wanted or needed. And surely he was right. Now was not the time for grief. _Now_ Felipe needed to be strong and helpful and patient. Grief would be an issue later. Maybe, God willing, a long time later.

When he'd left the house, Diego was in the back garden, painting. He'd been sketching for days - birds, horses, clouds, hands, and a woman with a cloud of dark hair. Yesterday, he'd drawn one of his father's prize (and horribly ugly) new sheep, and then he'd drawn Don Alejandro. It had been amazingly good: the picture had that intent expression Don Alejandro got when he was checking over his stock.

And today he was painting. Outside, because he said the smell made him queasy. Diego was very talented and Felipe was looking forward to seeing the current masterpiece, but when he came around the house after rubbing down Sunshine, Diego was wiping off a large section of the canvas and scowling.

"What's wrong?" Felipe asked.

"I can't get the clouds. They looked flat." He smiled tightly. "I am trying not to feel frustrated. I haven't really painted in...months, actually. Maybe a year."

Felipe picked up a stoppered jar that had rolled under the bench. He put it in the box and said, "Maybe tomorrow the clouds will be easier to paint."

Diego started to laugh at that, but he stopped and glanced at the house. "We have company."

A moment later Maria appeared at the back door, leading Don Carlos. "Diego, my boy. You're looking well."

"Good morning, Don Carlos. How nice to see you. I'm afraid you've missed my father."

He smiled wryly. "I'm quite sure I have. Alejandro is an early riser, and this morning..." he shook his head. "I intended to come over early, but the pigs got out and my foreman put his foot in a hole."

"Not hurt, I hope."

"Not broken, we think. At any rate, I thought I'd stop here and see what he was doing today. I have the most interesting story to tell."

"In fact, I expect them home in about an hour. He is, ah, lending that bull to Don Sebastian."

"Goodness, how'd he get talked into that?"

"He plans to breed Dulcinea next year, and that grey stallion...Anyway, he'll be home soon, why don't you wait? I was about to take a walk out to visit the sheep pen. Would you care to join me?"

He looked a bit disapproving. "Surely, you weren't going to go alone?"

Diego was twenty-four and several inches taller than Don Carlos, but even adults had to be respectful to elders, and Don Carlos was his father's best friend. Diego showed no offense at the presumption. "I was taking Felipe."

"He's very young," was the slightly disapproving response. "What if something were to happen?"

Diego lowered his eyes and said with excessive politeness, "Felipe is able to handle anything that might 'happen.' It was my father who asked him to look after me. None of us has had reason to regret the decision."

Don Carlos snorted. "Heavens, I'm turning into a _nosy_ old man! I apologize, Diego. I'm sure you need no advice from me."

Diplomatically, Diego said, "You are an old friend of the family. I know my father relies on you."

That earned him an open laugh. "Not for my wisdom, I promise you. Shall we?" He nodded toward the back gate and started off at a brisk pace before remembering his company and slowing.

Diego rolled his eyes at Felipe when Don Carlos wasn't looking and asked, "So what was this story you were so anxious to tell?"

"Ah! Well, the most amazing thing happened last night. Peculiar. You've heard that we have a witch in town?"

"Is that what she is? Not some kind of odd...entertainer? Surely, a witch would not advertise it so publicly."

"A 'seer,' then. Some kind of mystic." A flash of something like regret. "In any case, the inquisition is far away and long behind us. And she... for the past two nights she has been taking private clients at her room in the tavern."

"Well attended?" Diego asked, touching Felipe's shoulder as he stepped carefully over a patch of muddy ground.

"Quite a crowed last night..." he trailed of, suddenly hesitant. "I visited her myself."

Diego flashed a quick, uncertain look at Felipe.

"I spoke to my older sister, Sophia. She...you probably wouldn't remember her, Diego. She came out with us when we first settled..."

"I see," Diego said. "That must have been very..."

"Yes." He nodded to himself. "We were very close. We were always together, you see. She was unmarriageable. One leg was shorter than the other and her face," he shrugged sadly. Felipe lifted a hand to ask, but thought better of it. Perhaps Diego saw the aborted question, because behind his leg, his hand spelled out "divided lip" where only Felipe could see. Don Carlos continued uninterrupted. "I have missed her."

"I can only imagine how much," Diego answered.

They walked in silence for a minute or two. Then Don Carlos said, "But that is not what I came to say. After Sophia had gone, there was another...that is to say..."

"Who was it?" Diego asked. His voice was quiet and respectful, but there was a hardness beneath that told Felipe he was suspicious or worried about something.

They had reached the sheep pen perched at the rim of the ravine behind the house. The three ugly sheep were nibbling at the hay that had been laid out for them. One of them, seeing Diego, ambled over to beg for snacks.

"Your mother. She asked...she asked that I tell your father she...well...she'd like to speak with him."

One of Diego's hands was knotted into a fist. The other calmly took an oat cake from his pocket and offered it to the sheep. "I find that extraordinary."

"Extraordinary. Yes. That is just the word, Diego. Just the word."

"My father took that loss very hard, Don Carlos. Perhaps...Perhaps it would be best to leave well enough alone? Digging up old sorrows..."

Don Carlos looked at him sharply. "Ah. I know what you are saying. Why open up old wounds, eh? The truth is I was tempted to say nothing of this at all." He paused for a long time. "He has many questions...many doubts. I am not at all sure, Diego, that depriving him of this chance to find his answers would be a kindness." He sighed. "Those really are _very_ ugly sheep."

"Large quantities of soft wool, apparently," Diego answered. "You must do what you think best, of course," Diego said. "I will ask that you tell him privately. I think that would be kinder."

They returned to the house and Diego offered Don Carlos something to drink while they waited. When Don Alejandro and Gilberto returned, Diego kept Gilberto in the library while his father and the guest went to talk in Don Alejandro's study.

"What's going on," Gilberto asked when they were gone. Diego looked unusually subdued. Gilberto turned to Felipe. "Has he been ill?"

Felipe shook his head.

Diego folded his arms and leaned against the fireplace. "The mystic in town has spoken to Mother - who has asked to see him."

Felipe had never seen Gilberto transition to rage quite so _quickly _before. He started for the fireplace. Diego intercepted him before he'd taken three steps. "What do you mean to do?"

"I? Nothing," he chirped in a mockery of innocence. "Zorro is going to run her out of town."

"Oh, yes. That's subtle."

"Believe it or not, little brother, some days subtle is over rated. This _fraud_ is desecrating mother's memory and I won't tolerate it."

"You have no evidence she is a fraud," he said reasonably.

This seemed to thoroughly shock Gilberto. He took a step back. "You don't believe in this occult nonsense any more than I do!"

"Of course not. But belief is not the point. I have seen no compelling evidence either way."

"You are a man of reason! Don't pretend you'll be party to this...disgusting farce."

"You are also a man of reason...and not a thug, chasing people out of town at the point of a sword because you don't like them."

"For pity sake, Diego, at least think of Father."

"Excellent idea. So let's stop and _think_, shall we?"

Gilberto stepped back and took a deep, shuddering breath. He ran his hands over is face. For a moment-just a moment-he was still. Then he started for the fireplace again.

Diego caught him and set his feet.

"I'll kill her," Gilberto snarled, trying to shove Diego aside. "Never mind driving her out of town. Father cannot endure this!"

"A woman? Have you lost your mind? You cannot challenge her! Zorro -"

"Get out of my way."

"'Berto, please." The words were so quiet that Felipe would not have known they'd been spoken if he hadn't seen them. "Please. I cannot stop you."

That, finally, stopped him. He didn't get any less angry, though. Stepping back he bit out, "Not for this. Don't use your illness to manipulate me for this -"

Diego slowly shook his head. "You have always, _always_, relied on me to keep you from crossing the line. But you are going to have to learn to master yourself - for your own sake if not for mine. You are not a child having tantrums, Gilberto. Do you really want to murder someone?"

Instead of answering, he stepped forward and swept Diego into a desperate embrace.

Diego held him gently for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What can we do about Father? Diego, he..."

"He isn't gullible. He may want nothing to do with this. We may have to do nothing."

"He doesn't deserve this cruel game."

"About that we agree. But it may not be a game. Perhaps the woman is delusional. Or...genuine. I...I don't know. We simply don't have enough information." He put an arm around Gilberto's shoulders and guided him to the settee. "I promise you, we won't allow Father to be hurt, and anyone who tries will regret it."

Gilberto smiled wanly. "Father thinks you are completely benign, you know? Innocent as the driven snow."

"I can't imagine _why_. He has known me all my life."

Gilberto sighed, rubbing his hands together restlessly. "Perhaps...I could talk him into going hunting. We could get away from town for a few days. Camp in the hills. Or ride out to the vineyards up the valley."

"Perhaps," Diego answered absently. He was thinking.

A few minutes later Don Alejandro returned and announced that he was going to the tavern that evening. It had been dull in town lately, after all.

"I have another idea, if you're bored, Father." Gilberto made his counter suggestion and added, "A witch is a waste of time, surely. Hardly even entertaining. Let's forget the whole thing."

"For goodness sake!" Don Alejandro turned to Diego and Don Carlos. "Am I _quite_ so senile that he needs to protect me from myself?"

"I never implied that," Gilberto protested.

"He has gotten used to protecting me," Diego said soothingly. "It becomes a habit. And neither of us wants to see you hurt."

Don Alejandro froze for a moment, reining in his temper. He had been trying, since the boys had returned, not to raise his voice to Diego. "I appreciate the concern, but it isn't necessary. I am aware that this is probably some kind of swindle." He cast an apologetic glance at Don Carlos. "However. I will make up my mind for myself when I have more evidence." He softened slightly. "'Berto. It is the two of you who usually insist that assumptions not cloud attention to fact."

Gilberto clinched his teeth. "Please. Excuse me." He fled.

Don Alejandro sighed again. "It might be better if he doesn't accompany us to town tonight."

"That might be best," Diego admitted.

When Diego told his brother he would not be in the party that night, Gilberto gave him a sour look. "I can behave myself."

"True enough. However, Madam Mayatana sees her clients privately in her room upstairs, and if Gilberto de le Vega is sitting in the tavern drinking wine Zorro cannot be on the roof observing the sessions."

"Why Diego. Eavesdropping is very rude." Felipe could not tell by his tone if he approved of this rudeness or the opposite.

Whether it was a criticism or not, Diego looked slightly embarrassed. "I am not usually one to say the end justifies the means...but in this case it is not only Father who stands to suffer if this _is_ a fraud."

"Of course it's a fraud."

"Either way," Diego cut him off before he could elaborate, "you should come to lunch. Be civil to Don Carlos."

"Not be embarrassing."

"If you want to put it that way."

Felipe didn't have a chance to talk to Diego privately until later, when he was removing his shoes and getting ready to lie down for siesta.

"What do you really think? Is it possible to speak to the dead?"

"This isn't the first I've heard of it," he answered. "Although I've never seen it done. The truth is I don't know."

"You know everything," Felipe protested. He felt slightly cheated.

Diego chuckled at that. "I know quite a bit, but science...there are some questions science hasn't answered yet." He sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "The truth, Felipe, is that...my judgment here may not be trustworthy?"

Felipe found that confusing, but he waited instead of demanding an explanation.

Tentatively, Diego continued, "In pursuit of truth, it is important to recognize and isolate biases that might influence interpretation," Diego said slowly. "And recently, my own experience...it may color my judgment."

"What happened?" Felipe asked. Diego had just said that he'd never seen an occultist work before.

"Do you remember the first day Father Benitez came to visit?"

Felipe nodded. "Yes, I was... "

"Suspicious?" Diego offered. "Because you were worried it might be another imposter."

Felipe shrugged, unwilling to admit the truth. He hadn't been 'suspicious' and he hadn't worried about an imposter. He had been enraged, because it had seemed to him that Diego had suffered enough because of this man. He had wanted the kindly little man to go away.

It was embarrassing to even think of now. Shameful. They owed Diego's life to Father Benitez's help.

"After you left us, he took my confession and then he prayed," Diego said very softly. His eyes were on the window past Felipe's shoulder. "And then he sang an old prayer written by a monk a very long time ago..."

"I heard it," Felipe said, when he had been quiet for a while.

"It seemed to me...at the time...that there were other people singing," Diego said.

"Who?" and then, "There was no one there!"

"No, there wasn't. What I remember is quite impossible. There were no other voices. And yet...I remember it. So you see? My expectations are colored by what may well have been a delusion brought on by desperation and illness."

Felipe thought about that. "You were better, after. Sleeping very well. And your color was good." A thought made him shiver. "If this woman is a fake...it must be a terrible sin, to fake a miracle for money."

Diego frowned. "I suppose so. But fortunately, in this case we are not concerned with sin. Our only responsibility is to protect the people of our community. If protection is actually necessary."

z

The inn that night was crowded but quiet. No one was singing or playing cards. Mendoza, single-mindedly eating his dinner, was the only lancer present. Don Alejandro took a table at the back, and Felipe and Diego followed along silently.

Victoria, when she saw them, brightened visibly and came over with a handful of cups and a pitcher of wine. "My favorite customers," she said cheerfully. "Don Gilberto isn't with you?"

"Not tonight," Don Alejandro answered. He glanced at the balcony that fronted the guest rooms.

"He disapproves," Diego added.

"Because it is immoral to speak to the dead?" she asked.

"Because he is a positivist and 'occult nonsense' is against the laws of nature."

She considered that. "If it is happening, it can hardly be a violation of the laws of nature."

Don Alejandro and Diego laughed a bit at that. Don Alejandro asked, "Is it happening? Is this...extraordinary guest of yours bringing back the spirits of the dead?"

"I do not know," she said seriously, "and rather than spend the forty pesos to find out, I'll settle for the two pesos she has paid for her rooms. In advance."

Diego grinned at that, but Don Alejandro asked her seriously, "There is no one you would like to speak with?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "The living have no peace while they are here. My loved ones who have gone on to paradise...I will let them be." She stepped back. "Please excuse me."

"She has a point," Diego murmured.

"True. But I am seeking no one out."

Upstairs, one of the doors opened and Don Arturo appeared. Diego was surprised - his rancho was halfway to San Juan Capistrano. He didn't often come to the pueblo. Don Alejandro got up and met him at the base of the stairs.

Diego frowned for a moment, then signed behind the pitcher, "What is he saying?"

Felipe looked, while trying not to look like he was looking. The angle wasn't perfect, but... "He says he spoke to his father," Felipe signed casually. "He is very sure...he knew things..." Felipe was trying not to think about it. It was really creepy. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed hard. This couldn't be real.

Up on the balcony the door opened and a woman came out. She looked like any other woman, nothing special: not very old, not very young, not pretty but also not hideous. She came to the railing and looked down on the men gathered in the tavern. "You!" she said, and she pointed directly at Diego's father.

Don Alejandro took an astonished step backward.

"I have a message for you, Don Alejandro de le Vega. From your beloved Felicidad."

Don Alejandro bowed politely, thanked her, and went to the bar where he asked Maria for some supper. Then - and Felipe could not imagine how he could possibly look so calm - he came and sat down at the table with Diego.

He was as calm as a stone as he ate his supper. He was calm - pleasant, relaxed - afterward when he quietly had a word with different men. At about ten-thirty, he collected Diego and Felipe and headed home in the carriage.

Diego waited till they were out of town to say anything. "What have you decided, Father?"

"Every single client...they all said it was real," he answered softly.

"So you mean to see her, then?"

"She picked me out of a crowd. She even knew your mother's name."

"To be fair, so did everyone else."

"No one else called her Felicidad. Only I used her middle name..."

"It doesn't seem possible that Mother would need this Myatana woman to do her talking for her. She was never at a loss for words, remember?" But his voice was resigned and his hands were folded in his lap. He already knew he had lost this argument.

"I cannot even put into words how much I miss her, Diego."

No one said anything else after that. The ride home seemed very long.

z

Don Alejandro assumed that Gilberto had already retired. He went to bed himself, assuming Diego would do the same. Sometimes Felipe was flabbergasted at how much he missed, how many of the wrong things he took for granted. Don Alejandro was an old man, but he was a _shrewd_ old man. And before they had left for Madrid, he had known his boys very well. That he would accept their apparent passivity at face value, it was amazing. Though he occasionally worried aloud about Gilberto's temper, he seemed to accept the idea that he would not act on it.

It had to be Diego's illness that blinded him. He thought Diego was far too ill to make any trouble. He thought Gilberto was too consumed with worry about his brother to concern himself with less important problems...or too much Diego's follower to act alone.

Diego changed for bed, but he lit a lamp and picked up a book and read until after midnight. Felipe, coiled up in the chair with a book of his own, fell asleep before his own candle burned very low. But he wakened again when Gilberto came in, his shirt undone and his boots tucked under his arm.

Diego closed the book and set it aside. "Your verdict?"

"Fraud," Gilberto answered flatly. The reckless anger that had hung over him like a cloud all afternoon was gone. "She has an accomplice in the other room who talks through a tube in the wall."

Diego sighed. "Well. That's almost disappointingly crude."

"You haven't heard the worst yet. They are in league with Ramone. They have bribed him for access to the Pueblo records. He is taking a cut. No doubt he's told them everything he's heard over the last year, plenty of time to learn all the sad little secrets in such a small town." He shook his head wearily. "Do you know, Diego, this betrayal doesn't even sting. I don't even expect him to be a decent human being."

"Be careful. Don't forget that you are."

Gilberto said, "Well, _you_ are. At the moment _I _am a harsh and unforgiving human being. I can't help wishing he would drop dead." He sat down (in the less comfortable chair, since Felipe had the good one) and changed the subject, "Their little act is very convincing. They know just what to say. I assume the entire town is enchanted by Dona Myatana."

"Father intends to make an appointment, I think."

"Ah. Of course he does." He passed a hand over his face. "How is he?"

"No matter how this turns out he's going to be hurt. I don't...I truly don't know how to proceed. Nothing we do will protect him, except perhaps for your original plan of running the villains out of town. "

"I have been thinking about that. I think he would be greatly comforted by participating in their downfall."

"Well, that's dramatic." Diego laughed strangely. "No, I'm sorry. What did you have in mind?"

"As you pointed out, Father isn't particularly gullible. I think he'd be willing to test her. And when she fails, he will certainly denounce her. That should create enough of a scandal to distract...well, mostly everyone. Zorro should be able to work more or less freely."

"I need more detail."

"Tomorrow. You're exhausted. So am I, for that matter."

"Which means you haven't worked the details out yet," Diego laughed.

"Go to sleep, Little Brother. I'll need you tomorrow."


	3. Sept 20, 1813

**Sept 20, 1813**

It was afternoon, just after siesta, and the tavern was already packed. Felipe pressed himself close to Diego's side and didn't try to follow any of the chaotic conversations swirling around him. Diego glanced sharply at Felipe's face and put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him smoothly past the crowded tables clustered around the stairs to the quieter area past the bar. "What's wrong?" he signed casually.

"Nothing. Noisy," Felipe answered, embarrassed.

Diego only nodded and pointed to a seat at a vacant table. "Wait here," he said.

Felipe, his hands tightly knotted together, sat. Looking back the way they'd come, he realized that there were only a couple of dozen people in the tavern after all. It had been busier for the traveling magician...or on the day of the horse race...or the day the alcalde tried to seize the fountain. It was absurd that he would get so skittish sometimes, especially over so few people.

They weren't angry. Or armed. Unusually, even for the afternoon, half of them were _women_.

Felipe's hands were still sweaty. He forced himself to lay them flat in his lap.

Diego faced fear much worse than this every few days. And Diego had something much more substantial to be afraid of than just _people talking_. Diego's illness was terrible and the threat it presented was real, and still, Diego never let his fear master him.

Felipe looked up resolutely, watching their faces, seeing their words. Just people talking. It was chaotic and unpleasant, but nothing to be afraid of.

He saw Diego emerge from the kitchen carrying two cups. He sat down and slid one across to Felipe. "I spoke to Madam Myatana's maid. Father has an appointment." He made a small face. "Apparently, the seer knew he would be coming and kept a place open for him."

For a moment Felipe was impressed-even a little chilled-by this. Then it occurred to him that it was very easy to _say_ that to someone when they came to ask for an appointment.

Diego lifted one brow slightly and nodded.

One of the doors opening onto the balcony opened and the two Pascal girls came out, giggling and nudging each other. Felipe was a little surprised; he'd always thought they were more or less sensible.

Victoria swept up to the table and shook her head at Diego. "I saw that," she said sternly.

Diego blinked at her innocently.

She pursed her lips. "What will my other customers think, seeing you wander into the kitchen and help yourself to whatever you want?"

Still innocent, Diego protested, "I fully intend to pay for the tea."

"As though that were the point!" she protested. But she was trying not to smile, now.

"They will think I am an old friend who is allowed to take liberties."

"The will think I am a terrible hostess, that is what they will think."

Diego gave up the innocent game and said seriously, "I didn't want to bother you. You're busy enough today."

"You would think so," she answered tartly.

Diego made a show of looking around. "The place is nearly bursting at the seams with rich customers."

"But they don't eat, they don't drink. They just sit there, waiting for an audience with that woman."

The Pascal girls joined another young woman at one of the tables, and the three of them put their heads together, twittering. Victoria glanced at them. "It's strange that only the rich can speak to the dead, isn't it?" she said.

Diego started to nod, then straightened in surprise. Felipe followed his gaze. Mendoza was mounting the stairs. "Oh, no," Diego murmured.

Victoria's eyes hardened. "Oh, _yes_," she corrected. "He has just said goodbye to his life's savings. Mind you, I was rather surprised to hear he _had_ a life's savings. You know what the soldiers make. I would say he was much shrewder than he appeared, but..." she shrugged and waved her hand at the stairs.

A well-dressed man coming down the stairs passed Mendoza going up. He began to circulate around the room, pausing here and there to speak quietly. Diego watched him thoughtfully. "Who is he?" he asked.

"Ricardo. He travels with her. He isn't...particularly pleasant."

Diego narrowed his eyes. "What's in that bag?" he asked.

"Rocks and...trinkets."

Diego watched his movements thoughtfully. Victoria patted his shoulder and rose to get back to work. Felipe sipped his tea and sat quietly.

When Diego rose suddenly several minutes later, Felipe was startled. One handed, Diego told him to stay put. He went casually to the table where Don Antonio's daughters were sitting. The visitor Ricardo had joined them, and they were all bowed over the table examining something.

The young women greeted Diego politely and invited him to join them. Diego smiled and took his time over the formalities. He was being very charming. From halfway across the tavern, Felipe could see Ricardo growing irritated. He had to assume Diego could see it, too. He had to be doing it on purpose.

Felipe wished he had a better angle for seeing faces. Diego smiled sweetly and asked some question -

Ricardo's answer: "Stones of uncommon value and uncommon power, which for a ridiculously small price will bring you protection." He had raised his voice enough that people at the nearby tables had turned to look at him.

Diego took a step back from the table, holding up something small in his hand. "I see. How interesting, Senor. Tell me, what stone is this?" He was smiling.

So was Ricardo. "Turquoise," he said proudly. "The Arabs called it _ferris_; the lucky stone."

"You're mistaken," Diego corrected patiently (and loudly and clearly). "This is not turquoise. This is a copper pyrite that's turned green and looks like turquoise."

"Surely, you're too sensible a man to call someone you've never met a liar, Senor?"

Diego shrugged carelessly. "I'm only known for the truth, not for being sensible." He tossed the stone onto the table, bowed sweetly to the young women, and started to turn away.

"Senor?" Ricardo picked up the stone and held it out. "You should take it. The turquoise also warns its owner of approaching death."

Most of the tavern patrons were watching them now. At this, the audience gave a slight, collective wince. Diego, though, only laughed. At Ricardo's mystified look, Diego said, "Forgive me, Senor. The joke is on you, I'm afraid. I can give you no satisfaction, and you'll make no friends threatening a local invalid." His eyes flicked to the stone still in Ricardo's hand. "As for portents of my mortality, I've had my fill of them recently."

He was still smiling when he sat down-with his back to Ricardo-and finished the last dregs of his tea. Felipe watched over his shoulder as the conversations around the room began to resume. Then he rolled his eyes at Diego. "It's possible you're a little bit crazy," he said.

"Well, really. Magic _rocks_, Felipe! That is just too far outside of enough."

Yes, that was the kind of deception Diego would find particularly irksome. Still - "You should be more careful. He is a criminal. He is armed. And you turned your back on him!"

"What could he do here?" Diego responded. "Besides, I was watching_ you_. If he'd drawn his sword..." Diego shrugged.

Oh. If Ricardo had done anything threatening at all, Felipe would have warned him. Felipe had seen Diego fight - once, briefly - since his return that spring. He had little stamina, but he had speed and precision.

Felipe was torn. On the one hand, Diego had relied on Felipe to play a part in this game, and he had been completely sure that Felipe would come through. That warmed him. On the other hand, the idea of Diego taking such chances frightened him a little. What if he _had_ needed to fend off Ricardo? No pile of pretty rocks - even magic ones - was worth Diego getting hurt. "What would your father say if you got into a fight in town? Again?"

Diego gave him half a smile. "He would probably confine me to the house, so it is just as well Ricardo didn't push the issue."

For some reason, Felipe found himself smiling back, even though he had meant to be very disapproving.

Victoria appeared then, with two bowls of stew and fresh bread. She didn't mention the disagreement with Ricardo, which was strange. Felipe had been sure she would say something about it.

They spent the afternoon in the tavern, eating slowly and chatting with distant neighbors who had come in to town to get an appointment with the witch or just enjoy the spectacle from a distance. By five, all of the women had gone, but their lost numbers were more than replaced by men coming in from the ranches.

When Don Alejandro came in, everyone glanced up. A number of older men stepped forward to greet him. It was several minutes before he crossed the room and joined them at the table. "Your brother is sulking. I can tell you it is no more attractive now than it was when he was five."

Diego raised his hands. "Don't look at me. I can't do anything with him."

Don Alejandro took the glass of wine Victoria brought him and thanked her before shooting Diego an exasperated look. "Please. You are the only one who ever could 'do anything' with 'Berto."

A shadow crossed Diego's face. "Mother could."

Don Alejandro dropped his eyes. "I know you agree with him - "

"I am not convinced such things are impossible. I am only suspicious of this stranger."

His father nodded. "You must understand...if there is the slightest possibility..."

"Of course." He paused. "Did he talk you into testing her?"

"He made himself quite obnoxious about it." He took a deep breath. "But it is true I must test her."

"I have some ideas - "

"So did Gilberto. But I already know what I must say." He patted Diego's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Father. Truly. Concentrate on your meeting with Myatana."

It wasn't a long wait after that. Don Alejandro went upstairs and Diego moved to sit with Don Arturo and Don Antonio at a table near the stairs. Felipe stayed where he was. When Don Alejandro revealed that the mystic was a fraud there would be lots of yelling. He wanted to stay out of the way.

Assuming he did denounce her. She might somehow pass his test, or appear to. Lots of people had been to see her. All of them had been satisfied with their conversations with the dead. She might manage to fool Diego's father.

The seconds dragged past. If it were Gilberto in that room, he would have sprung his trap in the first three minutes: while he knew how to be patient, he wouldn't think this fraud was worth it. Diego...Diego was so offended by this fraud that he might play with his prey for a while before making his move. Don Alejandro? Felipe just couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Felipe rubbed his palms across his knees.

Diego seemed completely unconcerned, of course. Felipe wondered how he did it.

The alcalde came in. He ordered a glass of wine at the bar and took a seat at a prominent table three young caballeros quickly abandoned in his favor. Victoria's face was expressionless as she served him.

Felipe rubbed his hands across his knees again. How long had it been?

Up on the balcony, the door flew open and Don Alejandro stalked through. "It's a fraud," he said simply. "It's all a fraud."

The next door flew open and Ricardo stormed out. Without pausing or saying anything, he struck Don Alejandro across the jaw with his closed fist. Don Alejandro staggered sideways, caught his balance, and reached for Ricardo, who punched him in the stomach. "Shut up, you old fool," he snarled.

They came together, grappling too closely to follow -

And then suddenly, Diego was there on the balcony. He plucked Ricardo off his father and slammed him hard into the wall.

Horrified, Felipe ran for the stairs. Wasn't it his job to keep Diego out of trouble? How had he gotten up there?

Ricardo was trying to get his hands around Diego's throat. Diego shoved him into the wall again. Don Alejandro tried to put himself between the younger men, but Ricardo ducked sideways and Diego pursued him.

Diego swung and missed - and stumbled, nearly losing his balance. Felipe's stomach clinched: Diego was dizzy. Oh, God.

Ricardo ducked under Diego's arm and _shoved_, and Diego flew backwards. His arms flailed. Don Alejandro made a grab for him, but his hands closed on empty air as Diego crashed into the railing and tumbled over it.

Felipe was half-way up the stairs. He was too far away to do anything but watch in horror as Diego smashed into a table below the balcony. The crash it made as it crumbled beneath him was the loudest, most horrible noise Felipe had ever heard.

Diego lay unmoving amid the remains of the table. Felipe could only stare, waiting for him to move, to show some sign of breathing. Something. Anything. _Diego, please, please._

Distantly, he felt Don Alejandro brush past him as he raced down the stairs. He heard the alcalde observe, "Well, a tavern brawl is certainly entertaining, but it is hardly gentlemanly behavior." He saw Victoria and Don Alejandro bend over Diego, and then he couldn't see Diego at all.

Felipe clung to the railing. The patron who had been occupying the table and had risen to get a better view of the argument above, came over and joined them. And still, Diego -

Don Alejandro slid an arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him to sitting.

The wave of relief was as sharp as the fear had been. Felipe's knees sagged and he clung to the railing to keep from falling. He realized he'd been holding his breath and gasped. The sudden pain in his throat jolted him upright. The air was bottled up behind a clinch so tight it brought tears to his eyes. Felipe tried to swallow...and then again. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. His head was swimming and the pain was merciless and Diego was still _over there_ and Felipe had to get to him.

It seemed an eternity before the knot eased enough to allow him a squeaky half breath. He sobbed silently and pulled another. He swallowed and gasped, and _there_, that was enough. Scrubbing the dampness off his face with the heel of his hand, he spun and raced down the stairs.

Don Alejandro was speaking quietly into Diego's ear. Felipe couldn't see if Diego was answering. Don Alejandro shifted Diego so that he was supported by Victoria and stood up. Felipe squatted down in the place he abandoned and looked anxiously into Diego's eyes.

Diego looked back. Felipe's eyes stung again. Diego was conscious and alert, and if he was also clearly very agitated, that was hardly a surprise. Felipe squeezed his arm and reached around to help Victoria support his back.

Diego was breathing fast and hard. The creases around his nose had gone slightly blue but his lips and cheeks were only pale. Things could be worse. Felipe lowered his forehead to rest on Diego's outer shoulder and sighed. _Thank you. Thank you_.

Diego's stiffened suddenly and squirmed to look over his shoulder. Felipe followed his gaze. Don Alejandro and Ricardo had resumed their argument.

"You have grossly insulted the lady and myself, Senor!"

"I was unaware the term 'lady' could be applied to a fraud and a criminal."

"How dare you - " He drew back his arm to swing. Don Alejandro set his feet and narrowed his eyes. Diego began to struggle in a frantic and fruitless attempt to rise.

The alcalde stepped between. "Now gentlemen. As enjoyable as this is, it is a shameful breach of the public peace. As _I_ am entrusted with maintaining law and order in our little pueblo, you see that I cannot allow..." He shrugged with feigned regret.

Don Alejandro and Ricardo glared at each other with uninterrupted venom.

"Of course, if this were a matter of honor I could not interfere."

"_Absolutely_, it is a matter of honor," Ricardo spat.

"Shall we take this outside?" Don Alejandro asked softly.

"Father! Please!" Diego gasped. He tried to rise and only managed to fall sideways into Felipe. "Twenty minutes. Please."

Something flickered in Don Alejandro's eyes. "Twenty minutes?" he said to Ricardo.

Ricardo shrugged. "Certainly. I can wait to make you eat your words when your son is well enough to watch." He spun on his heel and stalked up the stairs.

Several of the older men closed in around Don Alejandro.

Felipe looked helplessly at Diego.

Diego panted for a moment and then hissed, "Get me up."

Felipe slid his fingers around Diego's wrist. Strong, but far too fast. When his heart was wild, moving always made things worse. Felipe shook his head.

The look Diego gave him was slightly betrayed. "Arguments?" he signed with a jerk, "Here?"

Felipe gulped. No, he wasn't going to refuse Diego here where everyone could see, not when he was already sitting helplessly on the tavern floor and sick and...

This was terrible. The plan had called for a large public argument, something to draw attention so Zorro could do his work. But this was too much: Diego was sick and maybe hurt, too, and Don Alejandro was about to _duel_, and he had only ever been competent with a sword and now he was _old_ besides, and Gilberto didn't know things had gone so badly, and even if he did, he surely wouldn't be finished yet.

Felipe met Victoria's eyes and pointed to an unpopular table in the shadow of the stairs.

She nodded. The lifted together, scrambling awkwardly for a moment - and then Diego was on his feet and leaning on them. He was heavy and he had no balance. Felipe gritted his teeth and panted as they angled over the few steps to the chair.

They nearly didn't make it, but Don Alejandro was suddenly right there, his hand under Diego's arm. "All right, son?" he murmured.

Diego nodded and managed a smile that looked mostly like a grimace. His father pressed his shoulder, told him to stay put, and turned away.

Diego closed his eyes and breathed.

Felipe moved so that he was between Diego and the rest of the room. "Could you get some water?" he asked Victoria. Diego was in no shape to drink anything, but Felipe could only imagine that he hated to have Victoria watching his weakness.

"Of course," she murmured, hurrying off.

Tentatively, Felipe reached into Diego's sash. He was delighted to find a small, glass phial rather than shards of glass and dampness. He pulled out the bottle, removed the stopper, and pushed it into Diego's hand. There were two doses in there, but the doses were very small: Diego had improved a great deal over the last weeks, and he wasn't taking much medicine. Diego drained it in a single swallow and made a face.

Felipe took the empty bottle back and tucked it away. He checked Diego's pulse again. Still fast and now - maybe - not quite as strong. Running up the stairs had probably been even more a strain then the fight, but then there was the fall. The priest had said Diego's heart didn't need any surprises. Dropping from Victoria's second floor had probably been downright astonishing.

Felipe nudged his shoulder. "Talk to me."

Diego pressed his arm reassuringly. "It's passing," he managed between breaths. "I'm fine. It just...doesn't usually _hurt_."

For a moment Felipe couldn't think properly. He gathered his wits, forced himself to look calm, and asked gently, "What hurts? Where?"

Diego blinked at him; perhaps he had said more than he'd meant to. "It's nothing. Felipe. I'm fine. It's all right. I promise. I just. Need a moment."

Angrily, Felipe answered, "I'd worry less if you could manage more than three words at a time! What's wrong?"

Diego's brows lifted. He answered with his hands, "I'm sorry, my dear and loyal friend. I was foolish and nearly spoiled everything. But I promise, I am all right. We must carry on."

Felipe looked at him for a long moment. "That's cheating," he pointed out.

The wan smile Diego managed in response to that was actually kind of reassuring.

Victoria returned with a glass of water. She set it before Diego and sat down beside him. Diego nodded a thank you and tried to look composed and at ease.

"Diego?" she asked gently. "If we take you out through the kitchen...It's cool outside, in the yard. And quiet. And there's fresh air."

Diego shook his head. "Thank you. I could not manage it."

Victoria bit her lip. "Diego...?"

Diego gripped the arm of his chair. "I promise you. I am not about to die in your tavern. This will pass."

Miserable, uncertain, she looked away. Then she gently laid her hand over his. Felipe nudged her. "Talk," he commanded.

She looked uncomprehendingly at him.

"Talk to him."

She swallowed twice and said, "Business is improving. I am having two or three rich customers a month, now. I think it might be worth while to improve my best room, so that I could charge more. I was going to ask your father about it, actually. The bed is already quite good...Some fancy wall paper, a nicer rug?"

Felipe took his other hand and checked the pulse. It was slowing a little. Felipe sighed and closed his eyes, letting Victoria's plans for redecorating roll past him.

"Diego?"

Felipe jumped. He hadn't heard Don Alejandro's approach behind him.

Diego sat up a little straighter. When he spoke his voice was nearly normal. "Father. Do you seriously mean to go on with this?"

"Diego, I assumed you'd understand. This is a matter of honor. What these people have done cannot go unpunished - "

"What they have _done_ is a matter of fact, and will be better settled by evidence then swordplay. And better punished by the law than by one man's sword."

Felipe winced, expecting Diego to be reprimanded for interrupting. However, his father only said, "You make a good point, but I will not back down. And I certainly will not argue this with you." He turned to Felipe. "How is he? Can he be moved?"

The pulse under Felipe's finger was...slow enough, he decided. Strong enough. The heart seizure had passed. He nodded.

"Diego, I'm going to ask Don Carlos to take you home. I think it would be best... "

Diego shook his head slowly. "Do you really think it will be easier on me to _wonder_ how this fight is going? I'll be much calmer, I think, sitting in on the porch watching you win."

He hesitated, unconvinced. "You would _sit_, I suppose? Not leap into the middle of things again?"

For just a moment Diego's anger and frustration - and shame and self-loathing - showed on his face. He dropped his eyes. "I promise," he said bitterly. "I won't forget how fragile I am again."

"Diego?" Don Alejandro said softly.

He looked up. Something he saw in his father's face made him smile a little.

"Here." Don Alejandro stepped around Victoria and offered Diego a hand up.

Outside, the sun was setting and most of the plaza was already in shadow. They settled Diego in a chair on the tavern porch. Don Carlos took the chair beside him. Diego didn't comment on his babysitter.

Victoria, restless, paced up and down, glancing from Don Alejandro to the alcalde. She glared and folded her arms when Ricardo and Myatana came out of the tavern together.

Felipe didn't see Zorro appear. Suddenly he was just_ there_, passing between Don Arturo and Don Roberto, calling out, "Senorita?"

Victoria jumped and spun.

"Please return this money," he said, tossing her a small money pouch and bowing. "It belongs to the families who were cheated by this man."

Ricardo drew his sword and stalked forward. "First you steal my money, and then you further insult me by calling me a cheat!"

People began to back out of the way. Hurriedly.

Zorro smiled. "Intentional insults, I can assure you." He drew his sword and saluted in a single fluid motion.

Ricardo charged him. Zorro stepped neatly aside, feinting low so that Ricardo danced and nearly tripped over his own feet. Ricardo spun his sword up in defense, but Zorro was only shaking his head in amusement.

Ricardo was angrier, but he attacked more carefully, trying to test Zorro's defense. He never landed a blow.

Flitting lightly around the plaza, Zorro expressed every trait that Felipe had ever hated about Gilberto de le Vega: every move was arrogant and amused, every flick of his blade dripped contempt for an opponent who wasn't _bad_, but wasn't good _enough_. He wasn't bothering to hide his utter lack of sympathy and respect for an opponent who was not as strong, not as smart, not as skilled. He was never - quite - within Ricardo's reach, never let him land a blow, and he was laughing.

Ricardo lost his sword to a move so fast and so casual that Felipe wasn't sure how it happened. Zorro stepped back with exaggerated politeness and said sweetly, "Pick it up." Ricardo was furious.

Felipe almost felt sorry for him.

The fight angled toward the tavern again, and Ricardo started for the porch. People shifted quickly out of the way, and Felipe knotted his fists anxiously. Right now Diego wouldn't be able to rise swiftly and run in a useful direction, and Felipe certainly wasn't going to leave him.

He needn't have worried. Without any special effort, Zorro was in front of Ricardo, forcing him back into the plaza. His tactics had changed: before his arrogance had been playful and mocking. Now it was simply cruel. He landed half a dozen small cuts - Ricardo's arms, his legs, one on his back. They were shallow and stinging and must be terrifying reminders that Zorro could kill or maim him any time he pleased.

Felipe definitely felt sorry for him. Felipe was also very glad that he himself was no threat to Diego, even accidently. Gilberto could be vicious.

Ricardo was tiring. He had abandoned attacks completely and was now desperately trying to keep the tip of Zorro's sword away from his face. Felipe thought he was only succeeding because Gilberto enjoyed watching the fear grow in his eyes.

Ricardo dropped his sword again. Zorro smiled coldly and stepped back. "Please," he said generously.

Watching Zorro with visible fear, he stooped down and took his sword. When he stood up, his left hand shot out and something bright and silver flashed at Zorro. Zorro's sword moved at the same time, met with something that tinkled and bounced to the side. "My goodness," Zorro purred. Suddenly Ricardo was standing barehanded again, and this time Zorro's sword was at his throat. "That was hardly sporting, Senor."

Ricardo's anger was gone now. He was panting and afraid. His eyes were on the shimmering blade that hovered below his chin.

Laughing at him, Zorro stepped back. His sword flashed down and carved a 'Z' into Ricardo's jacket.

Then he turned and looked at the alcalde with the same contempt. "And as for you: deny you furnished them pueblo records."

Ramone blinked, taking half a step backwards. "Ridiculous! If course I deny it!"

Felipe would always wonder if Mendoza's appearance at that moment was only happenstance. He burst into the plaza yelling, "Alcalde! Zorro! He broke into your office, but I saved the money."

Surprised from two directions now, Ramone parroted, "The money? My _safe_?"

"No, Alcalde. The money in the bookcase. The twenty percent share_ they_ gave you. Zorro tried to steal it. We had a truly formidable battle - "

"The - S...Sergeant, you are suffering from delusions! Put that with the other money, and arrest those two on conspiracy to commit fraud! And while you're at it, arrest Zorro!"

But Toronado was already galloping out of the pueblo, a dark silhouette outlined in the last rays of the setting sun.

They didn't stay long after that. Don Alejandro was anxious to get Diego home. He tied Dulcinea behind the gig and squeezed in with Diego and Felipe. Diego, pressed between Felipe and the corner of the seat, fell asleep before they'd gone a quarter mile. He didn't snore.

With the sun completely down, the evening cooled quickly. The warmth of Diego at his shoulder and Don Alejandro at his knee was welcome. Felipe looked up at the brightening stars and thanked God for his mercy. So many things could have gone so badly that afternoon. Diego's heart seizure had been very brief and mild, and he'd recovered very quickly. A couple of months ago he would have been gripped by it for hours. Come to think of it, a couple of months ago Diego would probably have fainted before he made it to the top of the stairs. Diego was just so much better now...

They'd been lucky as well, that Don Alejandro hadn't been hurt. In all their planning, the twins hadn't quite taken their father's temper into account. Or Ricardo's temper. _That_ could have ended badly before Zorro had time to arrive.

And Zorro hadn't killed anyone. That had been a near thing. Too near. Myatana and her accomplice had desecrated his mother's memory, manipulated and tried to cheat his father, and - well, he couldn't have known _what_ had happened to Diego, but there had been enough light to see that he didn't look well. That was all the people Gilberto loved in the world. As long as the list of Gilberto's faults was - and Felipe had to admit that the list had grown much shorter since the boys had returned from Spain - he was completely, earnestly, honestly_ loyal_. He had always looked out for his family, and the servants and the cowhands and even Felipe, as little as he'd liked him. And while Gilberto might not sort of love everybody like Diego, the people he _did _love he was devoted to beyond all reason or sense.

He might have regretted actually killing someone later. Maybe. But he wasn't Diego. He didn't believe in the inherent worth of all human beings, not really, not in his heart.

And, of course, Zorro had won the fight. Although Felipe hardly worried about that any more. Gilberto was amazingly good with a sword. In the letters their teacher had sent, Diego had always been the one praised as 'brilliant' and 'gifted,' and his brother was only 'quite proficient.' How good had Diego _been_, that Gilberto was so overshadowed by him? Felipe supposed he would never know.

Which was sad, but nothing he was going to let himself grieve over. Diego was alive, and getting stronger. Gilberto was more than skilled enough to do Zorro's work. Things were going very well, all things considered, and Felipe would be grateful.

Very grateful. Today really had been a spectacular success, not just for the family, but for the entire pueblo. Myatana and Ricardo had been working their way up Alta California, going from settlement to settlement fooling people with their mystic act, and it was Los Angeles that caught them!

Lightly, he touched Don Alejandro's arm. "What was the test?"

Don Alejandro squinted blankly through the darkness.

"What did you ask?" Felipe tried again more broadly.

He sighed. "I said that the illness that had plagued Diego as a child had returned...and I couldn't remember the tonic she had used that had been so helpful."

Felipe made a face at that.

"Exactly. Diego wasn't a sickly child, not at all. But I was very convincing. I said we were growing desperate..." His voice grew hard. "Madam Myatana, pretending to be _my wife_, said that there was no use in seeking out old remedies...that Diego's suffering would end soon."

It took a moment for that to penetrate. As it did Felipe's stomach twisted, and for a moment he thought he might be ill. It was almost unbelievable that someone would be so cruel. To tell this lie to man in order to make a little money. Felipe could think of nothing to say.

"In retrospect, it makes perfect sense. They were getting their information from our Alcalde. _He_ believes Diego is dying, and he never knew him before he went to Madrid." He paused. "So. It's a shame Zorro arrived when he did. Even if I'd lost the fight, I would have enjoyed trying to kill that..." he stopped, casting a sympathetic glance at Felipe. "Never mind. I suppose it has ended well enough. You cannot challenge a woman, no matter how despicable her behavior, but she can go to prison."

Felipe wrapped his arms around his chest and thought about greed.

When they reached the hacienda, the sky was bright with stars and the owls were calling. Gilberto came out of the barn, hurrying past Tomas and his lantern. "What happened?" he asked, walking around the gig.

"You were right," Don Alejandro said wearily.

"I knew that," he answered sharply. "What happened to Diego?"

Chuckling sleepily, Diego allowed Gilberto to help him down from the gig. "Nothing. I promise. Just a little disagreement."

"Oh? And by disagreement, you mean...?"

"I got into a fight."

Gilberto froze in surprise for just a moment. Then, in a low, hard voice, he asked. "And you allowed this, Father?"

Ruefully, he answered, "I'm afraid I started it."

Felipe quickly scampered down on Don Alejandro's side, desperately hoping he wasn't about to have to diffuse an argument, because he had no idea how he would do it.

Gilberto only slipped an arm around his brother's waist and turned toward the house. "Let's get you inside," he said.

Uncertain, Felipe glanced at Don Alejandro. He motioned him to scoot along after them.

Felipe hurried past them, took a candle from the hall and lit the lamps in Diego's room. Coming in behind him, Diego made it as far as the desk in the sitting room before his knees gave way. He caught himself on the desk and Gilberto's arm, slowing his fall and sitting almost gracefully on the floor.

"Diego?" Gilberto asked.

"Mmmm. Dizzy. Give me a moment."

Worriedly, Felipe glanced at the door. Maybe he should -

"Don't," Gilberto commanded. "Father has suffered enough today. He doesn't need to be here."

"I'm _fine_," Diego said.

"Obviously. What was I thinking, to be worried?"

Diego smiled. "I made a pretty good showing before - " he stopped a moment to late for circumspection.

"Before what? The weasel landed a punch?"

"I fell off the balcony."

Gilberto slowly closed his eyes. "I take it you didn't break anything?" He asked too quietly for Felipe to hear the actual words.

"Pure luck, but no."

Gilberto ground his teeth and took a few deep breaths. "No. Well. Good news then. Let's get you up," he said finally. "You need to be in bed."

"I'm fine. 'Berto..."

"I know. It's all right. It's all right."

Between them, they got Diego changed and settled. He was tired enough that he chafed only a little at their fussing. "You've had no supper," Felipe pointed out while Gilberto adjusted the pillows. "Are you hungry?"

"No, just a little tired. You get something to eat, though."

Felipe thought about eating. His throat was sore and strangely stiff when he swallowed. He decided that food didn't sound appealing. He shook his head. "Not hungry."

"You're growing, Felipe. And you don't need to sit here and stare at me. I feel remarkably well, all things considered." Diego glanced at Gilberto who nodded: he would see to it.

So Felipe had to follow Gilberto to the kitchen. The found Don Alejandro waiting for them in the parlor, though. He had taken off his cravat and laid aside his sword. "How is he?" he asked.

"Resting," Gilberto answered shortly. "I'm sure he will be just fine."

They looked at each other for a long time. Gilberto said, "I promised him I'd see the boy fed. Please excuse me."

His father took a step toward him. "We need to talk."

Now Gilberto wouldn't look at him at all. He studied the wall across the room instead. "Perhaps later," he said tightly. "Father, please."

Don Alejandro lifted his jaw slightly, his own anger slowly growing. "Son, I know you're angry - "

"Do you?"

"You were right. And I ignored your concerns. I owe you an apology."

"Thank you. That is very gracious, Father."

"Gilberto...It would be better for us to discuss it honestly then to let it fester..."

"Honestly? Honestly? The only honest thing I can say is that you were a fool, and your pursuit of that foolishness could have gotten Diego killed! Do not ask me to stand here and forgive that or pretend it away. Not tonight."

Don Alejandro's patience eroded at that: "You forget who you are speaking to," he said dangerously.

"Forget? Not at all! _You_ are the one man I trusted to look after him, the last person I ever expected to lead him into danger." He took a shaking breath. "I implored you not to do this, but you _insisted_, you had to...to pursue this lunacy, and damn the consequences to anyone."

"That is enough!" Don Alejandro roared. "You have no idea why I went to that woman!"

"You went to that women because you care more for the dead than the living - "

"Never! I went to her looking for help!" Abruptly, he turned away. "If there had been any chance...If the dead were wiser than the living...I had to_ know_, if there were anything more we could do for him. And I had to ask if..."

Gilberto's jaw dropped open, but he didn't say anything.

"I knew it was desperate, even foolish, but...I had to try." He sighed. "Every time I thought about it, it came back to that. If there were any chance of help...Ah. The irony is, I got my answer, after all."

Gilberto rubbed his eyes. "You...I don't understand. How?"

Don Alejandro produced a handkerchief and held it out. "In Diego himself. I saw it in his face, when I looked up and saw him charging up those stairs. So determined. So valiant. Diego was...as alive as anyone I have ever seen. He is very much in this world, and I cannot believe he is leaving it soon."

Gilberto dropped his eyes. He didn't say anything.

"He tried to tell me. Since he came home, he's been trying to tell me. As terrible a burden as his illness is, it is not taking him from us. Not just yet. And he was right."

"Well. He is Diego," Gilberto said shakily. "Father, I'm ... so sorry."

"It's already forgotten."

"I haven't - "

"You tried to warn me you were too angry to talk. Ha. And it is hardly news that you are completely irrational where your brother is concerned. Go on. Diego asked you to look after Felipe tonight. No doubt he is as unsettled as the rest of us - look at him, he is as white as a sheet. Go on. I'll see you in the morning."

But Gilberto shook his head, stepped forward, and gently kissed his father's cheek. "Good night, Papa," he said.

_~TBC_


	4. Sept 23, 1807

**Sept 23, 1807**

You could get to the bottom of the ravine by a winding horse trail. If you wanted to. The twins never bothered. Top to bottom, the climb was only about thirty feet, and while it was nearly vertical, there were plenty of handholds.

Diego slid the toe of his boot along the rock, looking for a foothold. Below him, Gilberto looked up and groaned. "Look up, Diego. We have company."

Diego looked up. Brown eyes and a huge grin were peeping down over the rim. Felipe must be lying on his belly at the edge of the ravine. Hurriedly, Diego set his feet to free his hands. "Stop!" he gestured. "Turn around. Feet! First!"

Felipe nodded delightedly and the face disappeared.

Below, Gilberto sighed. "He's too little. He's going to fall. He'll crack like an egg at the bottom."

For a moment, Diego couldn't help wondering if he had been wrong to call him down. "_We_ never did..." he said uneasily.

It was too late anyway. Little moccasined feet came over the edge and prodded at the stone for a grip. All the yelling in the world wouldn't get his attention or send him back to the safety of solid ground.

Diego stayed where he was and watched. Immediately he decided that there was nothing to worry about. Felipe was more thorough and cautious than the twins had ever been. Perhaps it was because there was only one of him, so he had no one to race with or egg him on to wild chances...Or he might just be naturally level-headed. Even when he was alone, Diego often found it hard to be quite as careful and practical as he knew he_ should_ be...

As always, Felipe gave all his attention to what he was doing, and he climbed steadily downward. He made not a single misstep. Despite his care, he was nearly even with Diego now. Peering down under his own arm, he grinned hugely. Diego tapped his own nose and pressed his palms together: Listen closely. This is important.

Felipe nodded.

"The next part is hard. Watch me. Put your feet where I put my hands."

Felipe nodded seriously.

Diego took a deep breath, patted the rock where Felipe's next foothold would be, and eased himself down till his right toe found the indentation he remembered. The smooth patch was only a few feet, and they were past it quickly. From there Diego would normally jump the six feet or so to the ground, but Felipe was much smaller, so he set a more conservative example and climbed all the way down.

At the bottom, Emilio Pascal and Ramon Escalante were quarrelling. Or rather, Emilio was making snide insinuations about families that worked for a living and Ramon was struggling to keep his temper.

Gilberto was ignoring them. He liked Ramon well enough, but he wouldn't make a move to defend him: he thought Ramon should just haul off and hit Emilio (several times if necessary) so he would learn to keep his mouth shut.

Well, not today. It wouldn't do to have them show up for Captain Vasca's wedding feast with bloody noses and torn clothing. No, and not in front of Felipe either. He wouldn't understand what was going on and he still frightened very easily.

Diego stepped between Emilio and Ramon and then pointedly ignored Emilio by turning three-quarters away and throwing an arm around Ramon's shoulder. "Any chance of a bear this year?" Senor Escalante was on the committee organizing the Day of the Dead Fiesta. Although Diego wasn't particularly fond of bull-and-bear fights, he needed some question to ask to make it clear he was snubbing Emilio.

Emilio was very conscious of the fact that the de le Vega lands were five times the size of the Pascal ranch.

"It's too early to be sure. Carlito says he knows where a good one lives. But. There is a difference between finding and catching the bear." He sighed. "I hope I can talk Papa into letting me go along."

Diego spent a few more minutes pretending to be interested in the festival preparations, then he collected Felipe and led him down to the bushes that lined the trickling stream that lay at the bottom of the gorge.

"Pay attention," Diego gestured very seriously.

Felipe nodded.

Diego snapped a twig laden with leaves and berries from the bush and put it into Felipe's hand. He waited until the little boy had taken a good look. "You can eat the berries. They are very sweet. Only a few. Not many." He made a face. "They make you sick."

Felipe's eyes widened until they seemed to swallow his whole face.

Diego clarified with the signs for "manure" and "outhouse." He made another face.

"Eat a little bit?" Felipe asked carefully.

Diego nodded.

They spent about an hour in the ravine, nibbling berries, turning over rocks in the stream looking for crayfish, throwing pinecones for distance and accuracy. Every time Diego looked, Felipe was popping another berry in his mouth. This foray into imprudence and disobedience was almost reassuring, though. Usually, Felipe was such a careful, cooperative child. Blind obedience was convenient in a child, but Diego wanted more than that for the man Felipe would someday be. It was time he showed a little independence.

Anyway, the berries were a safe enough rebellion. It had the added bonus of being a learning experience: a stomach ache made a very memorable lesson. Diego resigned himself to a night sitting up most of the night with a fairly miserable and certainly abashed little boy.

To his surprise, though, the vast quantity of berries he'd eaten hardly seemed to bother Felipe at all. When the boys returned to the wedding party Felipe ate stew and rice and nut pies and two kinds of beans and at least three tamales...with apparently no ill affects at all.

When they reached the house late that night, Felipe was exhausted and not terribly clean, but he seemed to feel fine. When Diego went to check on him before going to bed himself, he was sound asleep.

Well. A surprise.

Returning to his own room, Diego found Father waiting in the hall. He had something flat and square in his hand. "Look what arrived," he said.

"Is that a book?" Diego asked eagerly.

"Two, actually. And one is in French, though that should pose a problem." He set the books in Diego's hands. "This is all that could be found. I hope you can use them. "

Diego had no idea what they might be. He angled them down so that the lamplight shown on the titles. Curiously, he translated, "'True Manner of Instruction' - this word '_Sourds_,' is that - ?" Diego's breath caught and he fumbled for the other book, the Spanish one. "'A simplified -' Oh, Father!" They were books on teaching the deaf. "How did you find them?"

Father laughed. "Not easily," he said. "Or it would have taken me less than a year."

"I can't begin to thank you," Diego said.

"Don't stay up_ all_ night reading, and I'll consider the debt paid, hmmm?"


	5. Sept 24, 1813

**Sept 24, 1813**

Don Alejandro confined Diego for his room for three days 'to recover.' He didn't need it. Although he slept late the first day, by noon he was awake, alert, and rising without dizzy spells. He protested his enforced rest with eloquence and reason, but while his father listened patiently and politely, he refused to be moved.

Gilberto wouldn't even try to intercede on Diego's behalf: "It won't work. You know how he is when he's decided to be stubborn. Anyway, you're missing the point. This isn't about you being too ill to sit in the library, it's about...discretion and temperance, and my God, you've_ got_ to start showing some." (Felipe managed not to visibly laugh at the irony of _that_ statement.)

Of course the short but patronizing lecture that followed put Diego in an exceedingly foul mood. Fortunately, Diego sulked by sitting in the arm chair and reading, something he frequently did when he _wasn't_ sulking, so at least he wasn't fractious or uncooperative.

Which was good, because Felipe had problems of his own.

The morning after they exposed the fake seer, Felipe woke with his throat burning and swollen. Swallowing-even cold water-had felt like a thousand tiny swords. By evening it had improved enough that he could manage milk and custard, but when Diego's involuntary convalescence finally ended it was still so sore that he swallowed only what was absolutely necessary.

It was very uncomfortable, but it wasn't worrisome. His throat had been easily hurt for as long as he could remember, but nothing terrible ever happened. It wasn't as though it was particularly _good_ for much, anyway: Felipe already couldn't talk.

The ache made it hard to sleep, though. And that was irksome, since even without that he woke several times a night to check on Diego. Sleep was fairly precious...

The morning Diego was allowed the run of the house again, he took his paints to the front courtyard. The fall rains had brought the roses back and the buds were just opening. Felipe didn't feel he could concentrate on his homework, so after looking after Toronado, he went out to the barn to curry Esperanza and Sunshine. They weren't as flashy as the black stallion hidden in the cave, but they were good mounts.

He was finishing untangling a knot in Esperanza's tail when Diego came in and sat on the rough hewn stool Tomas used when he was mending harnesses.

"Do you need something?" Felipe asked. "Are you all right?"

Diego looked him up and down. "I'm fine. I wanted to talk with you, but it can wait till you're done."

Diego waited patiently, but Felipe hurried anyway and slid over a feedbag so he could sit close enough to talk. "Zorro?" he asked.

Diego shook his head. "Felipe..." He paused uncertainly. "Maria tells me you haven't been eating."

Well, that was true, he hadn't. "Am I in trouble?"

Diego looked surprised at that. "No. I want to know what's wrong. Are you...Felipe, you've been very...quiet lately. Are you unhappy? Are you angry with me?"

Oh, no. Never. Felipe shook his head.

Diego leaned over and laid a hand on his forehead. "There's no fever. Have you been feeling ill?"

Indignantly, Felipe pulled away. "Certainly not! If I were ill, I wouldn't come anywhere near you!"

Diego blinked. "I...see. You know, when Gilberto said I wasn't fit to nurse a sick sheep, he didn't mean that literally."

Felipe shook his head. "Not _that_. Gilberto says you mustn't get sick. I would not let you get something from me."

Diego sighed. "Of course he did. All right, you aren't ill." He frowned. He motioned Felipe closer. Gently, he laid the tips of his fingers along Felipe's jaw and slowly stroked downward. Felipe couldn't help flinching when he reached the lump. Diego tilted his head into the light and carefully traced the edges of the swelling. Diego closed his eyes. "I take it this is why you aren't eating?"

Felipe shrugged as best he could with Diego still holding his head.

"Do you know what's causing this?"

Felipe felt his face grow hot. "I got upset," he admitted.

"No, no. It's all right. We'll take care of this," Diego said gently.

Felipe shook his head. "When you fell. I got upset. I think I was screaming. I just hurt myself."

Diego's breath caught. "That was _four days_ ago. Felipe! Why didn't you tell me?"

There was no answer to that, really. It hadn't occurred to him to bother Diego with this. Before he could even begin to explain, though, Diego shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter right now. Let's get you looked after."

He kept a hand on Felipe's shoulder the whole way into the house. From the medicine box, he took three powders Felipe hadn't seen before and mixed them with a cup of water. Usually, when Diego worked, he explained - in great detail and whether Felipe was taking notes or not - every step of what he was doing. This time, he didn't speak until he held out the finished preparation. "It will take a day or two to bring down the swelling, but this should help with the pain right away. It might make you a little sleepy."

Remembering that Diego had thought Felipe had been avoiding his help because he hadn't trusted it, he took the cup and drained it as quickly as he could. It stung as it went down, and it tasted horrible.

Diego rinsed the cup and took Felipe to the kitchen. He sat Felipe in the corner and talked quietly with Maria. In a little while they produced an atole. It wasn't very hot and it was mostly cream. By the time he finished it, he _was_ feeling sleepy. Diego - still as serious as he'd been when this started - led him to the courtyard and seated him in the shade.

"I should do my homework," Felipe protested at last.

"Not today," Diego said.

Felipe sat and watched the little birds hop from bush to bush while Diego opened his paints and started to work on a canvas. The morning was warm and pleasant and the roses smelled very sweet.

He watched the brush dance over the canvas. His eyes kept trying to close, but he liked watching the flowers grow under Diego's hands.

Most of the picture was clouds, though. Again. And there, to the side, the outline of a beautiful women... "Why are you painting heaven?" Felipe asked suddenly. He realized Diego was looking the wrong way, touched his arm, and asked again.

"Why am I what?"

"You keep painting Heaven. That _can't_ be a good sign."

Diego's brows rose in surprise. "Painting heaven! The things you think! It's only clouds, I promise you. I'm...chasing the light, I suppose. I can never get them right. They should be round with the light behind them, and these are...flat. Again." Ruefully he took a cloth and wiped out the top third of the picture. "I promise, I'm not painting visions of heaven." Felipe nearly pointed out that Diego hadn't explained the angels...but - oh. It wasn't angles. It was Victoria. Felipe smiled.

Diego went back to painting. Felipe probably fell asleep, because when he looked again, a different set of clouds had been painted in and Diego was waking him for lunch. They ate in the kitchen, since Don Alejandro and Gilberto were off checking the watering holes at the east end. Lunch was a smooth bean soup that went down almost easily. Felipe finished three bowls and enjoyed the feeling - for the first time in days - of not being hungry.

Every time Felipe looked up it seemed Diego was handing him a cup of medicine or tepid tea or broth. The rest of the day passed in a kind of mist. Probably most of that wasn't the medicine: his belly was full and the pain was blunted and he really _was_ tired.

Supper was soup again, with mashed carrots and bread. The bread still more than he could manage, and that earned him worried looks from Maria, but Diego was eating in the dining room so that was something...

Instead of going to the library to do his evening studies, Felipe sat by the back door after supper and helped Maria sort beans to soak overnight. They hadn't finished the job when Gilberto appeared and took Felipe aside. For a few moments he studied Felipe with the sharp interest he usually saved for Luis Ramone.

"In a few minutes, Diego is going to check you over and give you some medicine and some truly disgusting tea. You won't complain."

"Of course not," Felipe answered.

"Good. The tea will help the healing, if you can get it down." He sighed. "After that, you will go to sleep in your room."

What? No. Felipe shook his head.

"It's already decided. I know you won't leave him alone, so I'll bring my mattress in and take your place in the sitting room. Don't look at me like that, I took care of him for months. He'll be fine with me."

"I don't want to."

"Be reasonable. When was the last time you had a night off?"

A night off? "He isn't my duty. He's my _family_."

"Mine as well, in case you forgot. And I do not lose sleep ever single night."

"You lose sleep for other things."

Gilberto actually softened slightly. "Be that as it may. Tonight I will look after Diego, and you will do as you are asked and sleep in your room."

"He's angry at me," Felipe guessed.

"No. No. He..isn't angry with you. But you should cooperate with him. He's...worried. Hmmm?"

Felipe nodded.

So he was back in his own little room that night. It wasn't quite the first time since the twins had returned, but it was rare enough that it didn't feel natural. This was where he kept his things, but it seemed strange and lonely to have no one else nearby when he crawled under the blanket.

The nasty tea - and oh, Gilberto had been right! It was thick and slimy and tasted like old boots - seemed to be a winner. The burning in his throat didn't wake him until the sky was starting to lighten, and there was another cup of tea waiting beside his bed. He drank it slowly and went back to sleep.

When he woke again it was full day light, and there was a cup of atole sitting next to a new cup of slimy tea. There was also a note. It said to drink the atole first.

He found Diego in the cave puttering at the chemistry bench. Since he was packaging dried herbs and not handling explosives or poisons, Felipe didn't nag him about working alone. He'd carried down the plain cup that had held the tea. "What was it?" he asked when he put it on the table.

"Did it help? Marshmallow, mainly."

"For peeing?" Felipe asked in surprise.

"Oh. It is a diuretic, in fact. But not a very _good_ one. It's better for soothing internal inflammations." He motioned Felipe to come closer. "May I?"

Felipe tilted his head back slightly.

Diego laid his fingertips along Felipe's throat. "Does this hurt?"

It didn't.

"And here?" Lightly, he pressed downward and inward. "A little? Hmmm. Still very swollen, but better, I think."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He passed Felipe a stoppered bottle. "You may take this if the pain bothers you."

Felipe glanced toward the stall, but the pitchfork had been moved, which meant Gilberto had been down to look after him since yesterday, and there was something else Felipe needed to do. It would better to get that over with first...

"We need to talk," he signed nervously.

Diego slid off the stool and pulled up a chair, motioning for Felipe to take the higher seat. That brought back a lot of memories, actually. For serious conversations during Felipe's childhood, Diego had always made sure he didn't tower over the little boy.

Felipe tucked the bottle into his sash and sat on the stool...and then had no idea what to do next. He knew what he had done wrong, and he could give no good accounting of himself. That didn't leave much for a discussion, not with Diego who was always so _reasonable_.

Diego waited.

Felipe felt himself flushing.

Diego said, "I know that you didn't think I wouldn't care that you were unwell."

"Of course I knew..." Felipe took a deep breath. "You think I didn't come to you...because you have problems of your own. That I thought you weren't strong to take care of me, too..."

"It did occur to me. In fact, I gave myself a very hard time about it. Until Father pointed out that since this wasn't the first time you had concealed an illness, your reasons were probably not directed at me."

_Ohhh_, dear. Felipe pressed his hands together for a moment. "I'm not a child. I can't whine about every little thing. You have it so much worse, your problems are real, and _you_ don't complain."

"Yes, and you were lecturing me about it just last month, I think. Being unwilling to rely on others? Concealing pain so severe you couldn't eat for days isn't a wise way to assert your independence or demonstrate your maturity."

"It wasn't so bad..." That sounded weak even to him.

Of course Diego wasn't swayed. "You were living on _milk_, Felipe. Do I really need to tell you that is inadequate? You're still growing - "

"I'm not a child!"

"Yes, you are. Certainly, you're acting like one."

"Jose Macias was running a farm when he was just a little older!"

"He was several years older, and _that_ tragedy doesn't change the fact that he was a child then, and right now we are talking about you! And something might have been very wrong, and you would have had no help at all!"

"What if it had been bad and you _couldn't_ do anything? If nobody could do anything? Then you would know about it and be sad and it would still be bad."

"So - wait? Better not to know, not to _try_ to treat the problem because maybe - maybe- the treatment wouldn't work and...what? ignorance is bliss? I don't think so!"

Felipe swallowed. It hurt, reminding him how he got into this in the first place.

Diego leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And an injury like this, surely you had do know we'd be able to do _something_. You spend enough time with the medical books, I'm almost surprised you didn't produce a list of remedies...or have there just been so many things in your life that couldn't be remedied? Do you simply expect pain and unhappiness?"

"I'm sorry. I was wrong." That was never a bad track to take when he was in trouble.

"Perhaps the mistake was mine. You're very self-reliant and responsible. I forget sometimes..."

"It wasn't your fault. You have enough to worry about."

Diego's eyes hardened. "I see."

"Not that. Not you being sick. But Zorro and everything - " This was_ not_ helping.

"You are a child in my care. I am responsible. I am so very sorry this happened. I promise, it won't happen again."

Felipe nodded unhappily. There was nothing he could say to make things better and no way to explain, so it was better to just keep still.

"Toronado needs looking after. Let's take him outside and walk him a little."

And that was actually reassuring. Diego wouldn't suggest that if he were really angry. They led Toronado out to the grassy bank a bit down the ravine and Diego slipped the bridle off. He whistled the signal to run, and the black stallion was suddenly a flash of tail receding in the distance. The whistle to return was too high for Felipe to hear, but Toronado spun at once and returned.

Diego played this game for a quarter hour or so, sending Toronado here and there and calling him back. Then there was petting and a carrot and then Diego signed down, and Toronado dropped his head.

"Down," again. For a moment Toronado looked rebellious, then gracefully (for a horse; mostly the process looked like a bundle of sticks folding itself over) lay down on his side. Diego showed him down again, and Toronado laid his head flat. "Good boy," Diego whispered, crouching down behind him. "Beautiful. He's doing very well with you. Well, Felipe? When do you think you'll be ready to ride him?"

Felipe, who had been staying out of the way and lounging against a rock, straightened in shock. "Me? When I'm a very old man!"

"I was thinking next week, assuming you're feeling better!"

"You're kidding. He's worse than your father's demon mare."

"Dulcinea? Father keeps her more high-strung than I would. He likes the challenge, I think...but Toronado has different responsibilities. He had to be able to defend himself, but he must also learn to tell enemy from friend, and I he must learn to be calm around children."

Felipe came over and knelt across from Diego. He laid his hands on the broad, hot neck. Toronado only whickered a little. He had to admit that it meant something that even in this defenseless position the horse was allowing him liberties. "It won't help: I'm not small, I don't run around him, and I don't yell."

"One step at a time. He's not ready for little ones yet. But he has to learn to cooperate with a rider who can't dominate him. It might come to that, if Zorro were injured."

"All right. Soon." Toronado wouldn't hurt him, after all. The worst that would probably happen is he would stand there and refuse to move...or refuse to let him mount at all. Embarrassing, but...oh, if he _would_ let Felipe on! It must be pure heaven, a mount like this.

They returned him to the stable and bedded him down not long after that. Diego was tiring and Felipe needed another dose of the vile tea. They spent the afternoon on mathematics. Diego was patient and solicitous and he made Felipe lie down and rest for siesta rather than read.

The next day he felt much better. When Maria told Diego that Felipe had eaten a normal (more or less) breakfast of eggs and porridge, he was satisfied enough to remove his restrictions and suggest they hitch up the rig and go into town. They did errands for Maria (tea, cumin, and ten yards of white muslin), had orange juice at the tavern, and a long discussion with Father Benitez about the local climate and what to plant in the parish's winter garden. Felipe, who had never been as interested in crops and soil as Diego, found his mind wandering aimlessly until it settled on one of the neophytes who worked at the parish. She was doing the laundry in a huge tin tub, boiling over a fire.

The steam rising from the water irked him. Steam. That was what a still was about, capturing steam. If you just put a lid on it, the steam condensed and dropped back into the pot...

Taking the steam somewhere else to condense, though, was touchy. He could ask Diego to _buy_ an alembic, of course, but...

He wondered if it was a test, if Diego knew an easy way to do this and was waiting for him to find it.

If there _was_ an easy way to do it, what would it be? Never mind making it pretty; he was past that now and just needed something that worked.

He was in the cave that evening, six rough diagrams wadded up in the trash and a list of parts finally growing under his quill when Gilberto came down. First, he checked Toronado, then he looked over Felipe's shoulder and hmmmed irritatingly. He'd been absolutely no help so far, so Felipe ignored him.

Gilberto sighed. "It's a good start, but you need to go dress for dinner. It's getting late."

Felipe shook his head.

"Oh, yes. Diego has convinced Father that you are not household staff but on a par with a tutor or a companion who looks after the elderly. And you're old enough, barely. So you're to eat with the family. At supper."

Felipe was completely and deeply horrified. He hoped it was a joke.

Gilberto wasn't laughing. He actually looked sympathetic. "Well... he had to do something, after the position you put him in. Maria took days to tell him you weren't eating. Obviously, he can't trust anyone else to look after you at all. Or at least, that's what he believes."

"You're serious?"

"Quite serious. And perhaps this isn't a bad idea..." He hesitated. "All right, it is a terrible idea, and you'll hate it until you get used to it, which will probably take three or four years, but...don't be too hard on him. I know when he bungles this parenthood thing he bungles it _badly_, but he is the youngest, most ignorant parent there has ever been. And he is doing is very best."

Felipe closed his eyes and tried to think. Maybe if he apologized some more...

"You can't talk him out of it. He's made up his mind and he doesn't need to waste his energy on pointless arguments. Anyway, it's too late; Father has already agreed. There is nothing you can do but thank him and go along with this."

Felipe balled up his fists in frustration and said nothing.

"He doesn't understand why you didn't tell him, and he's looking for something..."

"I could explain..." But he couldn't even find the words in his head to explain. What would he tell Diego?

"You can't. He won't understand, and if you try...believe me, you'll only make things worse."

"You don't know anything about it," Felipe said impatiently, wishing he would go away..

Gilberto looked at him hard and smiled. "On the contrary. I know everything about it. More than Diego, at least: when he looks at you he only sees the child he loves. He's never looked at you with the eyes of an adversary searching for weakness. Even if he tried to see it...he couldn't imagine why you wouldn't value yourself as much as he does."

"No. You don't know anything." He couldn't. This was Gilberto - mean, but never mean enough to be really _good _at it. He couldn't know anything important.

Except now he was looking at Felipe as though he were reading his mind. He took a step forward and leaned down to speak softly in his ear: "There were lines I wouldn't cross. I had my pride. As much as I resented you, there's no honor in being cruel to a little boy. And you were such a poor, sad thing...But that doesn't mean I didn't see the real weaknesses."

Felipe shook his head. Gilberto was bluffing. He didn't know anything. He couldn't. And he had certainly never held back when they were younger.

"We both know that you're nobody, a little orphan Diego pulled out of the mud and took pity on. Broken and pretty much useless. Isn't that right? And Diego worked so hard for you...pulled you out of the silence and into the world...saved you."

Oh. Felipe felt slightly ill.

"I know how utterly splendid Diego is, so intelligent, so talented, so forgiving. I know how _badly_ you want to worthy of his regard."

Felipe shoved him backward. "You don't know anything!"

Gilberto just looked down at him. "You want to amount to something...but you have no idea how to do that. You want to prove he hasn't wasted his time. You want to make him proud of you. Of _course_ having to admit you had problem you couldn't solve, having to face asking him for _more_, when he's given you everything you have already, of course you hid it. The pain was well worth it."

"I hate you! Asshole!" Not that name calling had ever worked on Gilberto when he was being a shit.

But Gilberto just shrugged. "True. I'm right, though. Believe me, I know all about it." He glanced away. "You now, in a way, I think it was actually worse for me...I was his twin brother. God had made two of us, but he'd made one of us redundant. Anything I did, he did better. Anything I learned, he learned it faster. And besides that, he was good and kind and fair...and I was cowardly and jealous and selfish. By the time we were your age, I hated myself every bit as much as I loved him. Certainly more than you doubt yourself now."

Felipe was so surprised he nearly fell over.

"I know how it feels, to be willing to give anything to be worthy of him..."

Gilberto was so calm and mater-of-fact. There was no sense of mockery or even condescension As absurd as it seemed-he was being genuine. "What...what happened?"

"Well...part of it was mother dying. We were the same in our grief and...and I discovered then that he needed me every bit as much as I needed him. And then, eventually, I did figure out that Diego didn't want another Diego. That _would_ have been redundant. It is almost funny, how long it took me to realize: he already thought I was worthy. I didn't need to be perfect."

Habit brought the thought 'well, that's fortunate, since you aren't even close' to mind, but he couldn't have sniped at Gilberto at that moment if he'd been forced at sword point.

Gilberto laid his hands on Felipe's shoulders. He said softly, "Right now, you're helpless and ignorant. Comparatively speaking. Everybody is at your age. It would be hard enough to sort that out even if you weren't weighed down by a great responsibility and terrible grief. But you are going to grow up, Felipe. That is the bright spot in all this. You will find your place in the world. Or make it yourself. It will take some time, though. So, you need to let Diego do his job in the mean time."

To his mortification, Felipe felt his eyes fill and run over. This close, he had no hope of hiding his tears or claiming any dignity whatsoever. His resolve was further eroded by the realization that this time he didn't have to protect his dignity from Diego's brother.

Gilberto pulled him tight against his shoulder. The embroidery on his jacked was rough against his cheek. "Stop this at once. You'll tear your throat to pieces. I mean it. And Diego will kill me if he finds I made you cry."

"Killing you might be a little extreme, but no, I haven't ruled it out completely."

Felipe jumped. He would have fled, but Gilberto held him still, one hand firmly at the back of his head. "This is not your concern. We had things we needed to settle that were just between us."

"I thought you'd made peace months ago."

"Well, there's peace and then there's peace." He still hadn't turned around to face Diego. His body was still between them, hiding Felipe's embarrassed tears.

Felipe sniffed quietly and hoped he wasn't dripping anything disgusting on Gilberto's jacket.

"This doesn't look peaceful."

"No? Well it's probably the closest we could hope for. Even in the best of times he's at a difficult age. In the past two years he's had to relearn the sound of spoken language, adjust to your... difficult circumstances, and join a conspiracy against the government to save the local economy and any hope of justice from the sadistic criminal that runs the place. Really, he's lasted much longer than I expected."

Gilberto's hands relaxed, and Felipe made himself swallow and breathe and take a step back. He reached to scrub at his face with his hand, but Gilberto produced a handkerchief.

"I still can't - "

Gilberto turned around. "What you can do is stop winding yourself up about him. You are driving yourself mad - and him as well. You haven't ruined him! You haven't. You are upset he made a bad decision? Well, people do that. I have, God knows. And Felipe? Even for a man twice his age, he'd be doing well. Frankly, compared to some of Father's friends, he is a paragon of responsibility, wisdom, and sound judgment! So let it be."

Diego stared at him in astonishment for five full seconds. "I see," he said.

"Well really! The boy has our lives in his hands. Do you think I would have allowed that if I thought he was an idiot? He's capable. But no, you _worry_ about everything..."

"Oh," Diego said.

There was a short silence.

Diego took a deep breath.. "Father...was looking for you. I sent him to the barn, but you need to go..."

Gilberto rolled his eyes and trotted up the stairs past him, leaving Diego and Felipe alone.

"Are you all right? He didn't...?"

"He wasn't mean," Felipe reassured him. "I didn't know him..." But that wasn't true. All the bad parts of Gilberto de le Vega, he had known them. And he'd been right about them. And they were mostly still there. But his good parts-had they always been there? Had he always been wise and merciful and Felipe had somehow just _missed_ it? How could a person conceal _not_ being an utter prick? Suddenly exhausted, Felipe climbed onto the stool and wiped his face again.

"I suppose he told you about the change in meals."

Felipe nodded. "Will you change your mind?"

"No. You're old enough, and it is time you learned to conduct yourself in adult situations. Besides...regardless of what he says, I would have known you were in trouble if I'd seen you were not eating. I...I..." Diego sighed unhappily.

"It's okay. I'll get used to it." He managed a damp smile..

Diego was close enough now to reach out and ruffle Felipe's hair. Felipe sighed and closed his eyes. After a moment he asked, "We're not mad at each other, are we?"

Diego chuckled. "If I were angry, you wouldn't have to ask. You?"

Felipe shook his head. "Gilberto was right, though. If you keep worrying, you'll make us both crazy."

"I'll take that under advisement."

Z

That night at supper Don Alejandro announced that they had company coming. "Your cousin Rafael is coming down in December. He's bringing his fiancé. They'll visit her grandparents in Santa Barbara, and then come on down the coast. They should arrive in time for your birthday."

"Fiancé? He can't be getting married. He's only...?" Diego winced.

"Twenty-two," Don Alejandro said. "Old enough. We'll have to throw them a party, of course."

Felipe was caught between the certainty that Diego was watching him to make sure he ate and the possibility that he might drip soup on the table cloth. His throat was still sore, but not badly enough to figure into the current equation.

"Perhaps we could use it as an opportunity to get Don Luis and that Pascal girl together again. Unless they get that settled sooner."

"Matchmaking?" Don Alejandro asked.

"As long as I'm not the target, I don't object to the practice."

Don Alejandro studied his soup for a minute. "It's too early to plan the party. Between now and then we have the fall round-up and then the Day of the Dead Fiesta...and I want to start an olive grove, since the one at the mission is doing so well."

"Father," Diego said casually, "about the round-up."

"No, Diego. Not this year."

"I wasn't planning on working the cattle, I only - "

"No. I'm sorry, but not even to observe. Perhaps next year, if you're stronger. You'll be in charge of things here while we're on the range."

Felipe braced himself for a protest, or perhaps a barrage of logic or charm or appeals to justice. Instead - after a moment unsuccessfully trying to conceal an angry frown - Diego lowered his eyes and said thoughtfully, "Looking after the ranch will be difficult if I can't ride."

Don Alejandro laughed shortly. "That was quick."

"My brain is fine."

Don Alejandro put down his spoon and leaned across his soup to say sternly, "Only Esperanza. Never alone."

These were the terms Diego had been offering for weeks, trying to convince his father it was safe to let him on a horse. He answered with out hesitating, "My word."

Don Alejandro sighed. "Very well."

Diego hesitated. "When?" he asked.

Don Alejandro sighed again. "Tomorrow," he said.

Diego's smile didn't fade during the rest of the meal or afterward when Gilberto played the piano for them in the parlor. When they headed down the hall to bed, Gilberto asked, "What time tomorrow?"

"Dawn," Diego answered happily, "assuming I have a good night."

"Of course. Dawn."

"You don't have to join us," Diego said smugly.


	6. Sept 26, 1813

**September 26, 1813**

It was still dark when Felipe woke to the sound of Diego rummaging in the wardrobe looking for his boots. Felipe rubbed his eyes, left the warm nest of his bedroll, and got dressed. He had to hurry to catch up with Diego, who had a start on him, and they only paused for breakfast because Felipe pointed out he was hungry. Even with the detour to the kitchen, it was just dawn when they reached the barn.

Gilberto had saddled Viking, Sunshine, and Esperanza and was waiting. "I didn't think you were serious," Diego said. "You know, I don't need a baby sitter."

Gilberto only mounted.

Diego led them out to the orchard, to see for himself the damage the drought had done to the orange crop. Even his tally of the loss only dimmed his smile a little. Then he continued on to Boulder Creek where he dismounted and led Esperanza down to drink.

Gilberto slipped down beside him. "You're all but quivering, Diego. Perhaps you should sit down and rest for a minute."

"I think I have been very patient, all things considered. Graceful, even, in the face of my limitations and prognosis. Enjoying myself this morning is _not_ going to kill me, so let me alone."

Gilberto blinked. "Right, then." He drew Viking aside and checked his hooves.

Felipe tapped Diego's arm. "It's too far for today...but we could go up to the vineyard."

Diego frowned. "Grapes? It's past the season, I don't..."

"The lake. Fishing!" He smiled. "Fantastic fishing up there." But it was six hours away, if you took the shortcut instead of the wagon track.

Diego smiled. "That's a very good idea. Soon."

They followed the creek downstream and then crossed over and climbed a low hill to look down on the King's Road. The sun was pleasantly warm by then and the clouds were round and white and just the sort Diego probably wanted to paint.

But probably not today. He was already tiring. He turned back to the house without being asked. They got home by mid-morning. "I thought Father went to town," Diego said.

"He did," Gilberto answered. But Dulcinea was in the coral. The twins glanced at each other.

Don Alejandro was in the parlor in intent conversation with Don Sebastian. He asked his guest to wait, and drew the twins into the library.

"What's wrong?" Gilberto asked. "You were meeting him at the tavern in town."

"The tavern is closed. The alcalde is worried about civil disorder and has closed all of the businesses for the day. The rancheros and businessmen will meet at Don Carlos' later." Don Alejandro sighed and ran his hands through his already shaggy hair. "Diego. Sit down. We have a problem, but nothing irrevocable has happened yet, I want you to remember that. We won't allow..."

Diego sat. He was placid and thoughtful, the opposite of Gilberto, whose face was already beginning to darken with anger in anticipation of whatever it was the alcalde had done.

Don Alejandro took a deep breath. "Senorita Victoria has been arrested."

"Again?" Gilberto asked disgustedly.

"On what charge?" Diego asked.

"The charge is murder." He watched Diego worriedly.

Diego didn't seem about to go pale or faint. He just looked a little surprised when he asked, "Has she killed someone?"

"No! Of course not. The evidence, from what I've heard, is that they don't have any other suspects. I promise you, Diego, she will not pay the price for a crime she did not commit. One way or another, we will settle this. You must not worry - "

"I'm not worried. Well, not about the outcome. I'm sure you'll get it sorted out. I _am_ worried about Senorita Victoria. I think I'll go have Maria fix a hamper for her. Felipe, go harness up the rig." He rose smoothly, and, exchanging an inscrutable look with Gilberto, headed toward the kitchen.

Felipe knew better than to ask any questions until they were alone on the road. Of course, he didn't actually have to ask: Diego understood his curious look well enough.

"The alcalde cares about the appearance of public order, not the reality of justice. And Victoria has been an inconvenience since he arrived. He won't spend any time looking for the real murderer when he has a scapegoat right here."

"What will we do?"

"We will start by collecting information. After that...?"

Oh, well. After that it would be Zorro. Happily, Felipe traced a tiny "Z."

Diego nodded.

When they reached the pueblo Diego walked into the cuartel with a pleasant wave to the gate guard. A bit nervous, Felipe stayed right behind him. Sergeant Mendoza was on duty in the office next to the jail. He seemed a bit embarrassed about having arrested the senorita and also about asking to search the basket Diego was carrying for her.

Diego seemed only amused. "Everything in order, Sergeant? No files, no pistols?"

"No, but enough food here to feed an army. Ah-this bottle of wine, no. I cannot let her have that. A cup of wine, of course. We are not inhuman, but...the _bottle_ is very heavy glass, you see." He looked abashed. "It could be used as a weapon."

"Then by all means, pour her a cup and confiscate the rest of the contraband." He smiled meaningfully.

Mendoza started to smile back, but he stiffened. "Don Diego. Did you really believe it would be necessary to bribe me in order to get a visit?"

Diego was taken aback. Quickly he said, "Not at all. But anyone might have been on duty. I had no way to know. Anyway, it is too convenient to call a bribe; my father owns the vineyard."

Mendoza, mollified, carried the basket into the inner room. He unlocked the cell, passed the basket in, and locked the door. Victoria blinked at the basket, then fished out a seedcake and nibbled on a corner.

Diego glanced after Mendoza and laid a hand on the bars caging Victoria in. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She tried to smile. "I have been arrested. Again."

"It must be very tiresome."

"Oh, yes. It was thoughtful of you to bring a basket."

"But more useful to figure out how to get you out of here. What happened?"

She set the seedcake back in the basket with a grimace. "This morning I found my guest dead! Stabbed through the heart! It was horrible. And then I was screaming and Mendoza was yelling and then the alcalde and some soldiers were there and..." she shrugged. "Suddenly, here I am."

Diego sighed. "It seems to me that the quickest way to get you out of there is to find out who _did _kill him. Who was he? What was he? Who were his enemies?"

Her eyes widened. "Diego, I have no idea! He arrived last night after closing. He demanded a room and paid in advance...He said to get him up at dawn, but he was dead when I..." She shook her head.

"So he didn't arrive on the stage," Diego said. "And he arrived alone. On horseback?"

She nodded. "That's right. He was carrying a saddlebag."

"How was he dressed?"

Victoria closed her eyes. "He wasn't a farmer. But he wasn't a gentleman of leisure, either. Somewhere in the middle? A bookkeeper. A merchant? A bit...flashy."

"Very good. What else can you tell me?"

"His name was Morales. He was very tall. And very rude. Oh, and he also had a mustache."

"The knife that killed him? Was it his own? Or was it something taken from your kitchen? Or something the murderer brought with him?"

"I...I saw it. I held it. It certainly wasn't mine. But was it his? I have no idea."

"No, of course not." Diego folded his arms and began to pace. "Still, it's an odd picture. Did he hand you his own knife and invite you to stab him? From the front, not the back, I take it?" Diego frowned harder and paced faster. "Unless the killer was some acquaintance living here in town, it must be a stranger."

"Well, if it is, they are not staying with me. He was my only guest."

"This would almost be easier if you _had_ killed him," Diego murmured.

"Diego!"

"Well? a woman defending her safety and honor? Justice doesn't look too harshly on that. I don't suppose - ?"

"Diego! What a thing to say!"

Diego frowned impatiently, "Certainly, being willing and able to defend yourself must be better than the alternative. But you're not much of a liar, I'm afraid. If you_ had_ done it, I think you would have already confessed."

She giggled. "I think there might have been a compliment in there somewhere..."

"All of it. But we are getting off the point. What about his belongings?"

"The alcalde took them to lock up."

"Hmmmm. Reasonable. But he will be no help."

Victoria twined her hands together anxiously. "Diego, what is going to happen?"

"Well, the alcalde might keep you locked up as long as he can - because you do insist on making his life difficult. He'd lose the tax revenues from the tavern, though. And waiting for the magistrate would probably mean an acquittal: there is no evidence to speak of and there is an entire pueblo full of character witnesses. On the other hand, if he sends you to the capital his chances aren't much better. The evidence is still poor and the governor isn't a complete fool."

"But he might - Diego, I can't imagine going to Monterrey in one of those cages!"

Diego gripped a bar in one hand. "It won't come to that. I promise you. I am quite sure the alcalde can be bribed."

"What? Oh, you can't mean - Diego!"

"Obviously, we would rather not. Proving your innocence is a much better plan."

She sat down on the cot and covered her face with her hands.

"Victoria...it will be all right. I promise."

She looked up and nodded bravely. "I am sure you're right. Really, the idea that I killed him is silly. Why? To rob him? Why would I scream and draw attention to it? And even if I hadn't, how was I going to conceal the crime? Why didn't I take his valuables? If he even had any?" She threw up her hands. "And when did I become so skilled at knife fighting that I could kill a man with a single blow?"

"Excellent points, and they won't be wasted, I promise you. In the mean time, there are some other things I need to check on."

The went to the livery stable. Diego examined the dead man's horse and talked to the boy who had been working the barn the night before. He noticed a lot less than Victoria had. Then they went around to the back of the tavern. Diego did something to the door, opened it, and walked in.

Even for Diego - who did surprising things all the time - this seemed both odd and inappropriate. Though the tavern was closed, Victoria was a friend and trespassing on her property like a common sneak thief wasn't the way a grown man should act. When Felipe pointed out that this wasn't proper, Diego sighed and patted his head and slipped inside.

Felipe pulled the door gently to and sat down on the log stool to wait, trying to look bored and lazy. A kid with nothing to do. A servant hiding from work. Nobody worth paying attention to.

Actually, it wasn't _hard_ to get people to not-pay-attention. As long as kids weren't up to the kind of trouble kids usually got up to (like, for example, going places you shouldn't), grown-ups were content to forget about them. And if you looked poor, well, as long as you were quiet, you would be ignored. It was almost a shame that the little space between the old mill, the back of the livery stable, and the tavern was so empty. There was no one to see Felipe being up to nothing...

He tried to imagine what Diego was up to. It was probably important. Ironically, while people would notice Diego, no one would worry about him being up to something. He was respectable...and also in poor health. He would never be up to anything...

Diego emerged a few minutes later. He looked both out of breath and puzzled. "I've seen fights," he said, after he'd relocked the door and sat for a moment on the seat Felipe had vacated. "They make a mess. There's blood to clean up, and I doubt Mendoza did. If Morales died in that room...he didn't put up any kind of fight. Someone stabbed him while he was drunk. Or asleep."

Felipe slid a finger around Diego's wrist.

"I'm fine. It's not a spell. Just those stairs."

Felipe patted his shoulder.

"I think we're done in town," Diego said. "Give me a minute and then we'll go back to the rig."

When they reached the main road, though, Diego pointed south instead of north. Felipe turned, but shrugged a question.

"Father and Gilberto went north, past the San Gabriel to Don Carlos' hacienda. They will be asking questions along the way. So we will go south: Don Antonio Pascal and Don Roberto Segovia."

So they went. It was a pleasant day, now that the heat of summer was gone.

They came to a tiny house almost hidden from the road by a stand of young apple trees. They had come through the drought looking kind of dry and tattered. Diego signed to halt the rig. He swung down and waved to an old man who was feeding geese in the yard.

The old man fumbled and dropped his pan of grain in surprise. "Don Diego? Senor, I am astonished to see you!"

Diego smiled charmingly, and presented Felipe to Santos Rodero. "When Gilberto and I were very small, his daughter was the sort of older girl who watched the little children at public events to make sure nobody fell into a creek or got trampled by a horse. We thought she was a terrible wet hen and a nag, but the day Gilberto got his foot stuck in a hole, she was the one who got it out."

The old man beamed. "_That_ was a story I had not heard."

"Discrete as well as sympathetic. I was very sorry to hear that she had died."

"The grandson she left me is flourishing. I wish he were to meet you, but I'm sure you've seen him at church." He paused. "Sit down. I have some...well some bread and goat's milk. Please." He was quickly gone.

There were a couple of benches in the patch of hard ground before the hut, and Diego sat down. He looked as comfortable and content as though he were sitting in a cushioned chair in a fancy sitting room.

Santos returned with cups of milk and slices of barley bread. "Now. Senor. I cannot imagine you have come down to visit me."

"I'm afraid not. I've come on an urgent matter that may come to nothing. You have a good view of the road. I was wondering what travelers you might have seen in the last few days."

"Well, I'm not home in the early morning. I go up and tend the kitchen garden at the hacienda." He shrugged. "Day before yesterday, the coach went through. And a day or two before that a party of soldiers."

"No one late last night?"

Santos chuckled. "Oh, no, Don Diego. A traveler at night sets off the geese. Last month, Don Roberto sent for a doctor late at night. The geese went wild for the messenger and for the doctor both."

Diego nodded thoughtfully. "You've been a big help."

"I don't see how. I've told you nothing."

"You have told me what definitely didn't happen. That may be very useful."

As soon as he could politely take his leave, Diego collected Felipe and continued south in the rig. They stopped at the Pascal and Segovia estates, asking about traffic on the road. They talked to foremen and peons. Finally they found three boys about Felipe's age who had taken turns the night before watching for wolves. They assured them that no one had passed. Felipe was uncertain how reliable they were: in his opinion, most boys his age were disgracefully lazy.

When it was clear that no one had seen anyone traveling or something unusual or anything suspicious in the last week, Diego gave up and turned the horse toward home. It was late afternoon when they arrived.

Diego stumbled as he climbed from the seat. He was visibly unsteady all the way into the house, though he refused to reach for Felipe's arm. "You haven't eaten all day," he said muzzily. " I'm sorry - "

"It's fine," Felipe protested. "I'll get you settled, and then go to the kitchen. Come on. You can stay in the library, just lie down?" Please don't argue with me. Please.

But Diego gave him no trouble. Felipe got him settled on the settee with a glass of watered wine, and, satisfied, went to the kitchen. Maria had kept some beans and tortillas and for him. Watching Maria paring potatoes it occurred to him to use the rumor mill to his advantage for once.

Carefully (and with quite a lot of pantomime because Maria's signing wasn't even as good as Gilberto's) and working from the facts, Felipe spun her a story about what they'd learned in town; that the stranger had arrived late and had planned to leave early. That Victoria had found him dead in a tidy room, killed by a single blow with a knife-not a cooking knife, not one of Victoria's. And the alcalde was being very secretive. He must have been some kind of spy-ours? Someone else's? Killed for information he was carrying. Yes, someone had followed him and used a pistol to make him hand over his documents or plans...and then stabbed him, quickly, perfectly - an assassin could do that - because a gun would be too loud.

Maria scolded him for making up outrageous stories. Felipe just shrugged. "Did Victoria kill him? In her own tavern? How was she planning to hide the body?"

That got a giggle from Maria, as it should have.

"Anyway, how could she? Doesn't it take practice to kill someone?"

He left her to think about that and went back to Diego, who was asleep. Thank heaven! What had they been thinking, roaming all around the country side?

Victoria, of course.

Felipe took down the English grammar and tried to concentrate, but he'd been up very early and it had been a busy day.

He woke to the mundane and reassuring sound of the twins fighting:

"My God, this is a disaster!"

"It's not," Diego said reasonably.

"You tell me our murderer did not come from the south - well he did not come from the north! The last coach to go through didn't leave anyone. The only traveler on the King's Road who wasn't local was one rider last night - and he must be the murder victim. We don't have anyone to offer in Victoria's place."

"Even if there were an unidentified party on the road, 'Berto, it wouldn't prove anything. And he might already be gone. Now we know that whoever killed Morales, they live here. Someone he knew. Someone who knew he was coming. Someone who is still here."

Groaning, Gilberto brushed his hair out of his eyes. "What shall we do?"

"The alcalde has his belongings in his office. Perhaps he was carrying some correspondence...directions to someone's house...a personal journal?"

"Perhaps a signed confession?"

"Probably not. But we must find out who this man was, what enemies he might have had... It would be useful to know if his money was taken; robbery would be a motive, too. Although I wouldn't put it past Ramone to rob the dead, so if the money is missing it proves nothing."

"Well...it's true rifling his desk has become my new favorite hobby."

"Softly. Father is only in his office."

Gilberto sighed. "All right then. Tonight. And you?" He turned to Felipe. "How has he been?"

"No troubles," Felipe reported.

Gilberto smiled. "Well, that's something. And not a small something. We'll sort the rest of this out.


	7. Zorro's Story

_You can pre-order the DVDs for the series now, from your favorite online bookseller. _

_Obviously, I already have. _

**Zorro's story **

It took a few days to piece together what happened that night. The story Gilberto told Felipe was a bit more exciting then the one he told Diego. As much as Gilberto loved to brag, he avoided dwelling on things that would worry his brother, and he glossed over the most perilous bits. But, of course, Zorro wasn't the only witness to the events that night. The soldiers told their own stories, which were half-boasting and half-complaint. And, too, a few days later the priest came and had a short, serious talk with Diego.

Zorro had not stopped to look in on Victoria in the cell, but entered the Alcalde's office directly through the skylight. The desk drawers had nothing of interest. Likewise the safe. In a trunk in the corner he found a set of saddlebags and some stained clothing. Blood? In the moonlight, he couldn't tell. It didn't _smell_ like blood.

The saddlebags held some dirty clothing, a book, a little money. No personal papers, though. No confession.

The knife. Not a kitchen knife, no. Still dirty with something that crusted and didn't smell like blood. He tasted it gingerly. No.

Whatever was on those things must have looked like blood...hours ago...in daylight...to people who were too horrified to look too closely, perhaps. But perhaps the knife hadn't killed him. Perhaps he'd been poisoned or smothered or..._something_, and the true murdered had covered his tracks by making it look sudden and violent, rather than carefully planned.

Determined to slip into the church and examine the body himself, Zorro stalked to the door -

- and found two lancers waiting on the other side.

He slammed the door and slipped the bolt, cursing himself for being predictable. There were three more lancers coming up on the window. Out through the roof, then -

There was a click behind him, and a jump of shadows: the other door. Zorro turned and smiled politely at the alcalde. "Good evening?"

"Good evening, Zorro." He set a lamp on the desk. "I hope you're enjoying this little party. You are the guest of honor, after all."

Zorro pointed to the door. "A bit crowded."

"Oh, no. It's a private party. The honor of killing you is mine."

"My sword says differently, Senor Alcalde."

Smiling and smiling, Ramone produced a pistol from behind his back. For just a moment, Gilberto felt a stab of worry, and he loathed Ramone for creating it. "Oh, _well_. Indeed. A sword is no match for a pistol, as your valor is no match for your mouth."

"Choose your next witticism with care, for it will be your last."

Zorro flipped the door open behind him and dropped, rolling to the side. The alcalde, expecting him to flee through the door fired, and one of the lancers yelled in pain. Zorro rolled back to his feet, kicking the door shut again and raised his sword. Scowling, the alcalde drew his.

For a moment - just a moment - Gilberto lost his temper. He flicked his blade along the back of the alcalde's sword hand and knocked the blade away as it fell. A drop of blood - _real_ blood spattered the floor. And, _oh_, if anyone in this world deserved to bleed, it was Luis Ramone.

Almost by itself, the tip of Zorro's blade lifted toward the alcalde's perfect cravat. For a long, yearning second, he could not remember why he couldn't just kill this filthy blight on humanity. Regretfully, he turned and cut a rough, ugly Z into the panel of the alcalde's desk. He struck Ramone across the jaw, and, as he fell, exited through the door he'd used to enter. He set a chair against it to block the way.

The hapless lancer on the other side gaped and took a step backward, tripping over the bench and crashing to the floor. Smirking, Zorro skipped over him and out the nearest door -

Into the narrow room that held the cells. Mendoza was there, and an eager young lancer who frowned determinedly and steeled himself to face The Fox with creditable courage.

"I - I cannot let you take the prisoner, Zorro." Mendoza choked. "Give yourself up."

Really, this was too much. Zorro sighed. "Yes," he drawled, "and no. I'm hardly here to make your prisoner a fugitive for no good reason...but if you want to capture me, you're going to have to work for it."

Their attack was more frantic and desperate than skilled. Still, while Zorro was disarming the younger man, Mendoza landed a shallow slice along the outside of Zorro's upper arm. Gilberto barely felt the sting, but the sheer surprise made him pause for a moment.

Mendoza himself was no less astonished. Although later he would shrug it off as a minor touch between two talented opponents in a battle, at the time he took a hurried step backward and stammered, "Now Zorro! Obviously that-that was an _accident_."

Gilberto had to laugh at that. "Yes," he said, "Mine." He saluted Mendoza, then the prisoner in her cell. "Senorita, please _do_ pardon the intrusion. I must admit, this evening isn't going precicely as I had planned."

She smiled and shook her head. "Not at all! It's been very dull, as you can imagine, with only them for company. You are welcome to visit at any time."

And then, perhaps, Gilberto remembered that this was not - quite - a game, for he looked her directly in the eye and said, "Don't worry. None of this is as it seems."

Exiting the far side brought him into the cuartel, but from the noise it seemed the lancers were already crowding toward the stable to mount up and give chase. Ramone's voice was the loudest noise, crowing or Zorro's blood and vowing to hunt him to the end of the earth.

That was just fine.

Using the frame of the tiny window and the edge of the door, Zorro swung himself onto the roof. From there it was an easy leap to the wall and a jarring leap to the ground. While the lancers were unbarring the main gates, Zorro slipped through the shadows toward the church. The low wall around the rear was only meant to keep stray cattle out of the garden, and even with his arm beginning to ache, he cleared it easily.

There were no lights coming from the small rectory, Father Benitez only kept two servants, and the doors of the church were never locked. This would be absurdly easy. He entered the church through the back door, into the church's store room. The door shut just as the lancers thundered out of the pueblo searching for Zorro. Picking his way among boxes of decorations and a shelf of broken - something - and candle nubs, he reached the door on the other side.

It opened onto light and a very surprised Father Benitez, sitting at the little desk in the vestry.

They looked at one another.

Father Benitez set down his quill.

Zorro stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"Have you come for help with that cut?"

"Actually, no," Zorro answered. He glanced down. He wasn't leaving a trail of blood, but now that he stopped to think, there was something wet and sticky running down his arm and filling his glove. "I need to see Morales' body."

"An unusual request, Senor Zorro."

"An unusual business, Father. Please."

So he led Zorro into the sanctuary and between the pews to an alcove near the door, where a rough casket had been set on low braces. "A very sad case," he said. "It arrived a few hours ago...no family. An unmarked corner of the churchyard." He sighed. "Poor soul. I wonder who killed him?"

"Not Senorita Escalante?"

"To kill another human being is not trivial, as I suspect you know. Is the young woman given to such fits of temper, that she would kill a stranger for no gain? It is true that we cannot know the heart of another, and perhaps she is capable of such a thing. But should that be our first assumption?"

Zorro crossed himself and reached for the lid. It was nailed shut.

"The soldiers prepared the body. It is only resting here for the night because I insisted it would be more proper than leaving it in the armory."

He went to the front and rummaged in a closet in the entryway, returning after a moment with a small shovel. Together they pried the lid off the rough box.

No body. Just bags of something. Sand and small rocks, by the feel of it.

Father Benitez sank to his knees and began to pray.

"It's not a miracle," Zorro said.

"I am not giving thanks, I am asking the Lord for temperance...so that I do not beat Luis Ramone to a bloody pulp with my own two hands. God forgive me. He has concealed the body! There is some evidence that would exculpate this poor woman. His opponent, his personal inconvenience, and he would see her tried and convicted, the body of an innocent man buried in a ditch rather than - "

"I don't think so, Father," Zorro stopped him. "I don't think there is a body _anywhere._ I don't think anyone has died. I think this was all a trap - from start to finish - to capture me."

"Morales is alive?."

"If that is even his name."

"Lord have mercy."

Zorro heaved the lid back into place. "I think it might be best...not to mention this. And perhaps, to delay the burial, if you can? I think I'll need...another day? Surely no more than that."

"What a shame, that I will be called away on an urgent matter tomorrow and be unable to burry this poor soul in the ground." He sighed. "Now. I think you had better let me look after your arm. Unless you intend to drip blood all the way home?"

So Zorro sat in the vestry while the priest quickly stitched and bound the wound.

~TBC


	8. September 27, 1813

**September 27, 1813**

It was after midnight and still Diego, wearing most of his cloths, sat in the comfortable chair reading. Felipe, sitting on the foot of Diego's bed with his legs crossed under him, scowled at the book he was pretending to read and thought about stubbornness. An hour ago he'd tried to coax Diego into bed.

Diego had only shaken his head. "Something's not right," he said. He wouldn't - couldn't - explain. And it didn't seem to matter that there was absolutely nothing he could do. He sat patiently, a book open in his hands, with an obstinate look that said that trying to argue with him would only accomplish...nothing.

Diego's book slid out of his hands and dropped into his lap. Asleep. At last. With a prayer of thanks, Felipe slipped onto his belly and sighed. He should get up and put out the lamp, cover Diego, slip into his own comfortable bedroll. He should also wait a few minutes first, so that the little noises of his movement wouldn't wake Diego.

He looked almost as worried and exhausted asleep as he did awake.

Felipe must have fallen asleep, because he woke to find Gilberto shaking his shoulder.

Oh.

He blinked and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

Gilberto signed, "How bad was it?"

Oh. Oh! Felipe sat up and shook his head. "He wasn't sick. He tried to wait up - "

"Oh, of all the _stupid_," Gilberto grumbled, turning around. "Diego! There is no point in both of us staying up all night."

Diego was alert immediately. "You found our murderer."

"Better, as a matter of fact. I will tell you about it tomorrow. When you have had a decent amount of sleep."

Diego reached up to steady himself on his brother's arm, and Gilberto hissed and paled. Diego froze. "You've been hurt."

"It's nothing. A scratch. And it's been seen to."

"Show me."

"Diego." But he sighed and gave in. He slid one arm out of his dressing gown and unwound a neat, white bandage on his upper arm. "See? It's fine."

"You didn't stitch it yourself, not _there_."

"Father Benitez. Good enough?"

"Now, really. I'm not that bad a nurse! It was funny, but the joke is getting old - "

"I wasn't avoiding _you_. I was at the church anyway. I wanted to see Morales' body."

"Oh?"

Gilberto sighed and motioned Diego to re-wrap his arm. "All right, I might as well tell you now. There is no Morales - or at least, no body. No one's been killed. It was all a trick. A trap."

"A trap," Diego gasped. "He baited a trap for Zorro with Victoria? Oh, dear God. You walked into it. 'Berto - "

"And walked out again, don't forget!" He glanced ruefully at his arm. "I admit, I took a hit to my pride. But here I am with the answer, and the lancers are combing the hills chasing shadows. Hmmm. You know, I think they were expecting me to free her. The alcalde was waiting at the cell."

"What would be the point of that, making her a fugitive?"

"Well, clearly it wasn't a very subtle trap. Now come on. Let's get you to bed, hmmm?" '

With no more excuses, Diego allowed himself to be put to bed and Felipe let himself, at last, slide into his warm bedroll in the sitting room.

He overslept a little the next morning. By the time he had dressed, Diego was already picking out shirts. "I've been thinking about our little problem," Diego said, without even an absent 'good morning.' "Our little excursion yesterday suggests that Morales had not left town as of yesterday afternoon. Or at least, he hasn't left the area. In fact, it seems to me that the last thing the alcalde wants is to have this Morales seen. A stranger would bring questions he can't afford."

"His apartment in the cuartel?" Felipe asked.

"More likely his estate, where there are only a few servants and they are not available for ready gossip." Diego leaned down to retrieve a pair of shoes from the bottom of his wardrobe. "The only question is - " as Diego straightened he tottered unsteadily and then dropped to the floor with all the grace of a sack of rocks.

Felipe dove, but didn't reach Diego in time to catch him. Franticly, he fumbled at Diego's wrist. He wished he could say something reassuring at the same time, but since Diego's eyes were only half-open and unfocused, he wouldn't have understood anyway.

The little flutter wasn't frighteningly fast. Or too weak. Or uneven. Just a faint, then, not a spell. Felipe sighed and patted Diego's arm.

"Don't tell them," Diego groaned. "They'll worry, and there isn't time."

Felipe shook his head. "It's all right. I won't tell. Just hold still for a minute. Hold still. It's all right."

Diego nodded. And grimaced. And closed his eyes. "Are you going to be ill?" Felipe asked, but of course Diego couldn't see the question. Unable to offer any relief, Felipe rubbed Diego's shoulder and offered what comfort he could.

There was a knock at the door. Diego groaned and pushed himself onto his elbows.

"Diego? Felipe? I've been thinking - Diego?" Don Alejandro came around the corner and froze. "Diego."

Felipe sagged and shut his eyes.

"It's a faint, Father. It's nothing."

Don Alejandro squatted beside them. "I won't ask you how worried I should be."

"Not at all. It's nothing. I lost my balance."

"Shall I ask Felipe for his description? I thought not. Stop talking and hold still. At least it didn't happen an hour from now, when you were on a horse or walking through town."

"Diego? Have you seen - Oh. Father." Gilberto sighed and squatted down too. He checked Diego's pulse and eyes and felt his hands, all of it ignoring Diego's feeble attempts to push him away. "Let's get him back into bed? Slowly, hmmm?"

They were efficient and calm and Felipe brushed his sweaty palms on his pants and sagged with relief. They settled Diego on the bed. Don Alejandro fixed the pillows, but he spared Diego the indignity of tucking him in.

"Father, I was thinking...if you didn't need me today...perhaps I'll stay with Diego?"

"I was about to suggest the opposite. But you're right. Don Sebastian is - well, _you_ couldn't talk him out of doing something impractical." He nodded to himself. "Diego, are you hungry? Let me get Maria, and we'll bring breakfast in."

When he was gone, Gilberto frowned sternly. "You mustn't give in so easily! Complain a little, or he'll think we're up to something."

"Are we up to something?" Felipe asked worriedly

"Well, to be precise, _I_ am up to something, Diego has just volunteered to be my alibi. After all, if I am staying home making sure he rests quietly in his room then I am not with Father listening to endless discussions...or riding out to the alcalde's sad little rancho to see if that is where he is hiding Morales."

Felipe rolled is eyes. "Brilliant plan. You forgot one thing: I can't _make_ him stay quiet and rest. And he won't. You _know_ him. "

"I will," Diego protested. "My freedom of movement in exchange for his - today that is a very good trade! I give you my word, I will not leave this room until after siesta. I swear."

"But you have to look less pleased," Gilberto said sternly. He reached out and slid a finger along his wrist. "_Is_ it safe to leave you?"

"I fainted. It happens. I will keep my feet up and take my medicine. I will be fine."

Don Alejandro and Maria came in with trays and they made a picnic of breakfast in Diego's room. Diego made a good show of looking frustrated and impatient. Actually, Felipe was pretty sure it was only partly an act. When Don Alejandro had gone however, Diego and Gilberto had a hurried conversation that Felipe could barely follow, and then Gilbert stood by the open window until heard his father ride off.

"He really won't give you any trouble," were his parting words to Felipe before slipping off to change to Zorro.

That was true, at least. Diego was exhausted from the morning's drama and the effort of convincing the rest of the family that he felt fine and there was nothing to worry about. As the door shut behind Gilberto, Diego set aside the book he'd seemed to be so interested in a moment before and closed his eyes.

Felipe sat on the edge of the bed. Diego's hand was a little cool, but his pulse was fairly strong.

"I'm fine. Really."

Or close enough to fine, Felipe thought.

"Thank you for this. For Zorro. I know you don't have to go along."

Well. Felipe went along for the same reason the twins did it: the alternatives were worse.

"Today...this isn't just about Victoria, you know. Although...ah, damn. But we would take up this cause for anyone. What Ramone has done...is despicable."

Yes. He must see Zorro as a real threat. And he must want to cheat and exploit and abuse the people of the pueblo _very_ badly.

"Clever, though, that's surprising. But also overdone and unnecessarily complicated, which isn't."

Before Felipe could give that careful thought, Diego had heaved a sigh and gone to sleep.

He woke in less than an hour, apparently much refreshed and a little impatient. "Victoria will think we have given up on her," he said, pacing between the sitting room and the comfortable chair.

"You promised," Felipe reminded.

"I wasn't thinking of me going. I was thinking of sending you. You could take Victoria some lunch."

"That would leave you alone. And Maria would think Gilberto was here with you. She wouldn't check on you."

Diego ground his teeth at that.

Felipe straightened up the bed and replaced the fallen shoes in the wardrobe.

"You could be to town and back in around an hour, if you didn't dally," Diego said finally.

"If something went wrong..."

"Nothing would. Because I would sit quietly."

Felipe knew he had already lost. He sighed and went to ask Maria to fix a basket.

You couldn't run a pony while balancing a loaded basket in front of you on the saddle. At a fast walk, though, the trip could be made in ...

Well,_ too_ long. Felipe was edgy. Too long.

The lancer at the gate wasn't Sergeant Mendoza, but he waved Felipe in anyway. The guard outside the cells also wasn't Mendoza, _and_ he was a bastard, refusing to let Felipe in, hinting for a bribe, pretending not to understand the most obvious signs.

Felipe didn't have much personal experience with bribes and he wasn't thinking clearly. Things might have gone very badly except suddenly Sergeant Mendoza _was_ there, and he groused and grumbled at the lancer for wasting time -

And then he sent Felipe into the cells. There was no one to open the door, but Felipe, relieved and delighted, beamed at Victoria and started handing her the items through the bars.

"You are alone?" she asked.

Oh. Felipe set down the basket and answered, "Diego is sorry. He cannot come."

"Oh," she said stiffly. "_Well_. I am only in jail."

Felipe winced. "He is very sorry." He took an orange out of the basket and held it out.

"Felipe?... Is Diego ill?"

Felipe wondered if he could pretend not to understand the question.

"How bad is it? Felipe? Is Diego all right?"

Felipe nodded quickly, putting the fruit down. "It wasn't bad." He fluttered earnestly. "Only a little faint. His father won't let him go out."

She frowned in confusion. "Is he all right?"

Felipe nodded.

She held out her hand for the orange. Felipe resumed passing her the food.

Victoria smiled thinly. "Thank you. It was kind of the family to think of me."

The inner door swung open and Luis Ramone - beautifully dressed, tall, clean and sweet-smelling - strode into the little jail as though it were a salon. He stopped. "Who is this boy?"

Victoria took the next orange from Felipe and dug her fingernails into the skin. "He's only bringing me some food for a friend. Surely, kindness isn't a crime now?" She smiled meanly. "And it _is_ a kindness. The food this time is much worse than last time. Your new cook has no idea what to do with beans. No wonder the lancers eat so often in the tavern."

The alcalde smiled meanly back. "I'm sure they miss you." He glanced at Felipe. "Get out of here!"

Felipe dropped his eyes, grabbed up his basket and scurried out the door. The short hallway was empty and he paused, hoping Victoria wouldn't get in trouble for accepting presents.

"Gifts from the oh-so-chivalrous de le Vegas, perhaps?"

"Yes. Chivalry is a rare commodity in these parts."

"I am astonished at your composure, Senorita."

"I am innocent, and my trial will prove me so," she answered. She sounded, strangely, very like Diego at that moment. Felipe laughed inwardly.

The next words wiped the laugh away and froze his blood. "Trial? There will be no trial. The evidence is overwhelming. Under the emergency statues, I can hang you in the morning and I have every intention of doing so. There will be a public declaration this afternoon. You might want to tidy you hair for the announcement."

Victoria made no answer to that. Felipe couldn't have answered it either. He ran. Clutching the basket awkwardly sideways, he galloped Sunshine home and tossed the reins to Pepe with a waved apology when he arrived.

In the house, he realized he was still clutching the basket and set it on a table.

And then he realized he had no idea what or how to tell Diego.

He considered turning around and heading back out to the barn. After all, what could Diego do? What was the point of telling him?

Well, because Diego would absolutely _kill_ him if he didn't?

This might kill Diego. Even if he didn't crack his head open in the fall when he fainted, whatever stupid thing he did next could do the job.

Torn, Felipe paced the width of the hall. Where was Gilberto when you needed him?

The door opened. Diego frowned down at him. "Felipe? What's wrong?"

Felipe buried his face in his hands and wished an earthquake would rip open the floor and swallow him whole.

Diego seized him firmly by the arm and pulled him into the room. He pushed him into the chair at the desk and squatted before him. "Felipe?" He pulled Felipe's hands from his eyes. "What is it? Are you ill?"

No. No, and too bad, because that would not be as bad as this.

"Something happened in town, then? Ah. Something you don't want to tell me." Diego pulled over the footstool and sat on it. "See? I'm sitting down?"

Felipe took a deep breath and spelled out, "Martial law," with his fingers.

Diego nodded encouragingly. "Yes, the alcalde - ?"

"He has _said_ she is guilty. She hangs tomorrow. Victoria."

Diego took a deep breath and squeezed Felipe's shoulders. Then he let the breath out and patted Felipe on the head.

"We have to stop him," Felipe fumbled, saying the obvious.

Diego laughed. It was kind of scary, since his eyes were hard and angry. "That is just what Ramone plans. It's another trap, of course." He was still laughing. "He expects Zorro to ride in at the last moment and save her!" He took another breath, and this one seemed to shake a little. "Mother of God, but that man is _vile_. Poor Victoria. She must be terrified."

Cautiously, Felipe tapped Diego's arm and asked, "What if Gilberto can't find the victim?"

"Then Father Benitez will ask why he has been asked to bury an empty casket. Without a body, there can be no accusation of murder. Even under martial law, there must be at least the appearance of a crime."

Oh. That sounded reasonable. Felipe rubbed his hands, trying to ease out the tension. Diego patted his shoulder. They sat there quietly for a long moment.

"All right?" Diego asked.

Felipe nodded.

Diego rose restlessly and went to the window.

Felipe followed and touched his arm for attention. He pointed to the chair.

Diego sighed. "Well. I cannot reassure Victoria. And I cannot help Gilberto search. But I suppose I can please you." He sat down unhappily. "Talk to me. I'm ..." He was nervous and frustrated. "Tell me stories."

Felipe told the story of how bear lost its tail. And the one about the monkey and the narrow-necked jar. And the fox and the grapes.

By the time he ran out of Aesop's fables, it was nearly lunch, and he fetched back a tray. They set aside the bread and fruit for a snack for Gilberto later, and ate the rest, including Gilberto's soup.

Diego looked so sad that Felipe took pity on him. "After siesta...we could take the gig into town? You could give Victoria a little company? You've had a nice long rest?"

"I am my brother's alibi. Father being angry; I can survive that, but he would ask where Gilberto was when I left the house, and I'd have no answer."

Getting a little desperate, Felipe fetched the drawing pad and charcoal. Diego drew clouds and a beautiful woman again, but this time the clouds were dark and stormy and the woman was so sad and so obscured by rain that she was only recognizable as Victoria because Felipe knew to look.

And then the door opened suddenly, silently, and Gilberto rushed in. He seized Felipe and lifted him into the air. Dropping him, he hugged Diego, and crowed - so quietly - "It was magnificent! It was perfect! By God, you should have seen it. Oh, Diego!"

Diego sagged in his brother's arms, his eyes shut tight. "You found him."

"At the alcalde's own sad little ranch house, yes. Of course, I found him." He laughed. "And then I brought him back to town. And what timing! Ramone was in the square making an announcement - he had a crowd of farmers and lancers and poor little Victoria, she was chained - to say she was to hang tomorrow for murder! Can you believe it? And into this I ride with Morales - not his name, in fact - confessing that there was no murder, it was all a trap for Zorro."

"How did you get him to confess?"

"I put the fear of me into him. Also, faking a crime in order to accuse and execute a 'perpetrator' is the kind of conspiracy the governor could not overlook. It would have gotten both Ramone and Coretz - that is his name - shot. So he was only delighted to tell everyone that no one _ever_ intended to hang Senorita Victoria. It was all a trap for Zorro. A completely innocent deception." He frowned. "Diego?"

Diego nodded, his hand tightly grasping Gilberto's arm. "Magnificent. Better than I could have planned, certainly. Victoria...Victoria is free?"

"Oh, yes. With the alcalde's apology for the inconvenience."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, little brother. God, but Luis Ramone is a blight! Surely, if you tried, you could think of _some_ way to justify killing him?"

Diego laughed weakly. "Don't tempt me today." He took a shaking breath. "I'm quite...tired. Please. I'm ready to lie down for a bit, now that the excitement is over."

Diego didn't sleep. He lay on his side - not even reading - but he didn't sleep. Gilberto fetched the chess set and he and Felipe played a long and complicated game in silence until they were interrupted by the sudden sound of many voices in the house.

Diego was just sitting up when Don Alejandro burst into the room. He told the story of Victoria's exoneration more loudly than Gilberto had. Clearly he enjoyed the alcalde's public failure every bit as much as Zorro himself. He finished by announcing that they were hosting a party to celebrate. "You feel well enough to join us, I hope?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it."

The house was already filling with caballeros and merchants and even farmers. Nobody had stopped to dress for a celebration. Maria declared there wasn't time to butcher and roast a steer, but two young sheep - not the prize ugly ones, naturally - were turning on spits behind the barn in under an hour.

Diego settled in the parlor. Courteous and somber, he played the role of the ailing son of a prominent gentleman. Felipe stayed close by, just out of the way. Most of the people at the party stopped by to visit with Diego, sometimes saying only a few words, sometimes much longer.

Once, during a gap in the stream of visitors, Diego looked up and signed absently, "Wine. Five times." He was frowning in Gilberto's direction, and he kept on frowning for several minutes until he crossed the hall and cornered his brother by the dining room. Diego said something odd about wine and truth.

Gilberto rolled his eyes. "Don't nag. I'm toasting Zorro, the hero of the hour. My behavior could not be more appropriate." He laughed mirthlessly. "To Zorro: undefeatable paragon of courage and skill!"

Diego tisked. "Are you envious? Perhaps _you_ would rather be a hero?"

Gilberto laughed rudely. It wasn't like him. "Heaven forbid! No mere mortal could possibly live up to the reputation the Fox has built." He gestured broadly to the revelers. "I'm happy not to be in his shoes when he finally disappoints them."

Diego considered this. "I disagree. I don't think they will be disappointed," he said, so softly that Felipe was reading his lips. "Zorro's courage and cleverness are impeccable. And, of course, he is the best swordsman in all of California."

Gilberto glanced away for a moment. "The second best."

"_That_ is hardly an issue." Diego corrected gently. Then he stepped closer and said, "Forgive me for being...difficult. I have so very much to lose, and...even the simplest help is beyond me. I cannot protect any of you - But that does not reflect any doubts - "

"Quiet," Gilberto signed sharply. "Enough." He closed his eyes and answered aloud, "I know it."

The two of them stood there for a long moment, a quiet somber corner in a loud, cheerful party. They didn't look at each other or move their hands. They certainly didn't say anything. But Felipe knew that they were having a conversation just the same. They thought the same way, and sometimes they thought the same things. They could even do it while adamantly disagreeing, but that didn't seem to be the case here.

At last Diego said, "You should get something to eat."

When they left Gilberto, Diego went out into the fading light, slowly walking the edges of the party, checking on the roasting meat, pausing to watch a group of boys and girls just a little older than Felipe dancing in a ring. He found some much younger children by the sheepfold admiring the ugly sheep. He spent a few minutes amusing them with little magic tricks.

All evening, the crush of people around Victoria had been very thick, and Felipe watched Diego noticing - always - where she was. It was fully dark and the roast lamb was being carved before he finally approached her and offered congratulations for her release.

She laughed and answered, "The congratulations belong to Zorro. He was the one truly in danger. And _he_ found the solution to our problems. All I did was sit and look out the window."

"But you - "

She sighed and fluttered her hands. "I was arrested again. How unusual. It's not even embarrassing anymore. And it was almost worth it, to see the alcalde's _soooo_ complicated plan fall to nothing in front of everyone. Oh, Diego! You should have seen his face. He was red as a beet! Just what he deserved."

"I'm sure it was quite a sight. I'm surprised you didn't hold the party at the tavern. He would have been forced to notice."

She made an unladylike face. "If I opened the tavern, it would be packed with lancers! I don't see any reason to alleviate Ramone's morale problems: let them eat burnt beans for another night! It will serve him right. I am taking the night off and enjoying myself."

Diego smiled thinly. "Well, no one can begrudge you a night off."

"Too many nights off already," she admitted. "But the trap didn't catch Zorro and that is what is important. Oh, Diego. You should have seen him! It was the most amazing rescue anyone could have."

TBC


	9. Nov 8, 1807

.

**Nov 8, 1807**

Alejandro opened and closed the stall door several times, inspecting the repair. The men had done a good job. He was only half-listening to what Carlos was saying, but when the gist of his proposal finally penetrated he turned around in surprise. "Wait. You're talking about selling Great Idiot? To me?"

"There is no one else standing here," Carlos said impatiently.

Alejandro straightened and dusted off his hands. "He's the best bull you've ever raised, you've said so more than once. And he's worth twice what you're asking."

"If you're implying some kind of deception - "

"I'm sure the bull is fine. I want to know why you suddenly want to sell."

Carlos reddened slightly. "I need the money. I lost rather badly at cards last night, and I do not want to carry the debt."

"You should have thought of that before you played."

"I did not come for a lecture, I came to sell you a bull. If you don't want it, Sebastian or - "

"If I want the bull, I'll pay you a fair price for it, not take advantage because you've gotten yourself into a corner again."

"Do you want the bull?"

"Of course I want the bull!"

"Fine."

Alejandro realized he didn't know what to say. Carlos didn't seem to either. Finally, he said, "I appreciate it."

"Even at a fair price, I'm doing you no favor. Great Stupid is a perfect specimen." He took a deep breath. "If I wanted to do you a favor, I would find a way to keep you away from the table."

"Yes. Well. The folly is always obvious afterwards."

Diego and Felipe came into the barn, then. Thank Saint Mary. Any interruption was a welcome one.

Oblivious to the older men, Diego opened one of the stalls, checked the mare within, then pointed to her and asked in exaggerated signs, "What is it?"

Felipe made the usual sign for mare. Diego nodded and signed, "Good. Go on."

"The horse." A new gesture from the lexicon in the Spanish book on educating the deaf. Diego signed a correction, which Felipe nodded and repeated. Then Diego indicated the horse again, And Felipe's fingers did something so complicated and fast that even though Alejandro _knew_ what he must be signaling he couldn't follow.

"What are the children doing?" Carlos asked curiously.

They appeared to have finished with the mare and Diego was now pointing to the barn dog that had followed them in.

"Apparently, Spanish signs and Indian signs are not the same. Felipe is to be bi-lingual. Or maybe tri-lingual, since he must also read and write _and_ sign in grammatically correct Spanish. Or something like that."

Alejandro couldn't see what Felipe answered, but Diego laughed and signed, "Yes, they are friends. But I meant the animal. Tell me, please."

Carlos laughed. "You're joking. Surely, it's all the same. Anyway, I thought the child _was_ learning to write."

"And now he can spell with his hands: it is called a manual alphabet. Eventually, it will be very useful." Eventually.

Felipe had stepped back. He was scowling, now. "It has four legs," he signed. "It has fur."

Diego was scowling, too. He was irritated enough to speak out loud as he signed. "You are using the wrong pronoun. This animal has four legs. It has fur. It is _A Dog_. _The Dog._ _The Dogs_. Felipe, you know these words! Why are you being difficult?"

Felipe knotted hands unhappily for a moment and then he repeated Diego's corrections. "The dog. A dog." And then the finger flashing that meant he was spelling it out.

Carlos chuckled. "I remember when Diego used to complain he'd rather go riding than do his lessons, and look at him now."

"It's been a very long time since Diego complained about lessons," Alejandro said. Felipe, though, in the last few weeks...he had become noticeably less enthusiastic.

_~tbc_


	10. Dec 3, 1813

**Dec 3, 1813**

It wasn't music or even anything close to it. In its way, it was as sweet as music, but it was clear and slow and lucid in a way that music wasn't. It thrummed through his head, through his bones, shining like a light or quenching thirst like water.

There were no proper metaphors.

Felipe badly wanted to reach out and lay his hands on the silky wood of the piano, but while Diego would allow it when he was playing for fun, during a lesson, it was ears only. Felipe kept one hand in his lap and the other where Diego could see him signal: large interval, small interval; a chord of two notes, a chord of three.

Some of the chords were so pretty he could barely bring himself to answer. And some were kind of frightening, a thrill down his spine. And some were so sad he could barely make himself listen.

And some were kind of boring.

Felipe had no idea why that should be so.

His hand answered Diego mechanically even while his soul flew...and quaked...and shivered...

"Felipe?" Diego caught his answering hand gently and squeezed it for attention. "That's three wrong in a row. I think you're getting tired."

Reluctantly, Felipe nodded. But that was another thing about the music lessons. They balanced things out a bit. Everything else they did, Diego tired first.

"Sorry. How did I do?"

Diego smiled. "Noticeably better."

In other words, pretty badly. Felipe winced apologetically.

Slowly and lightly, Diego played a single scale. "Most people don't have perfect pitch, you know. Mother...Mother could play the piano but not the guitar...and she could never carry a tune in her head the way that Father can."

"I didn't know that." He knew almost nothing about Diego's mother.

"My sense of pitch is a gift, nothing I earned through work."

Felipe shook his head. "You always practiced."

"I don't want you to feel...I don't want to ask too much of you. Or set you up to compete unfairly."

"You're teaching me to understand music a little so I don't get overwhelmed. I'm not...upset. Or frustrated. If that's what you're worried about."

Diego nodded, apparently satisfied.

Don Alejandro swept into the room. He took Felipe's good vest of the chair and tossed it to him. "They're here. Are you boys ready? Hm. Diego, you look very nice. I wish your brother would get a hair cut."

"It's a little late now," Diego pointed out. "I think Rafael would notice if we got out the scissors."

"Be serious," Don Alejandro grumbled. But he offered Diego a hand as he stood up. Diego hardly seemed to need it. He hesitated only a moment before he stepped away from the piano.

"Rafael's mother is my favorite cousin, you know," Don Alejandro was saying. Felipe knew. He had heard the stories over an over. Cousin Elizabeth had been older than Diego's father, and she had been a genius at getting them into interesting trouble when they'd been very young. When Sebastian de le Vega had moved the family to the new world, he had missed his cousin more than Spain itself, but eventually she had married a colonel in the army, a man who had eventually commanded the garrison at Monterey. Every year or two she would come south to visit with her four children. When her husband retired, they had stayed in the colony, building up a sizable rancho.

Her oldest son had joined the navy, and the girls had married, and Dona Elizabeth's rheumatism had made traveling too painful to endure... She had last visited with her youngest, Rafael, almost six years ago. Felipe had been here then, but Rafael hadn't signed and wasn't interested in little children, so Felipe had no clear memory of him.

Outside, a little carriage had pulled up to the barn and Gilberto was offering a hand to an older woman - the duenna, no doubt, but this one was so ancient she surely couldn't be very effective...not that Felipe was completely clear on what she was supposed to prevent...

She was followed by a pretty young woman in a very elaborate dress and a young man who was clearly related to the de le Vegas. He wasn't as tall as the twins or as astonishingly handsome, but he was still intimidating in his near-perfection.

He greeted Don Alejandro with unembarrassed affection and then embraced Diego with a huge grin. "Well, Berto," he said. "You look wonderful. And I see you've finally gotten taller than that young upstart!"

Diego laughed and shook a mocking finger at him. "Be careful, Rafe. Last time you teased him about his height, he tossed you in Boulder Creek."

Gilberto smiled with a little too much enthusiasm and added, "And the time before that I threw you in Oak Creek. And the time before that...was it that muddy watering hole near the east slope?"

While Gilberto and Rafael laughed and shook hands, Diego said quietly to Felipe, "He pretends, sometimes, that he can't tell us apart. And the height jokes never did go over well. Aside for his dubious sense of humor, though, he's good company."

Introductions, then, everyone polite and formal. Don Alejandro made an appropriate fuss over the fiancé, Margarita. She was very beautiful and graceful and she smiled very sweetly. "I've been looking forward to visiting Los Angeles for quite some time," she said.

Felipe disliked her immensely.

"We're flattered," Diego said warmly.

"Of course, it's delightful meeting all of you. But the truth is, I just can't wait to meet Zorro."

The brief silence that greeted this was sharp with surprise.

Then Don Alejandro laughed. "You've heard of Zorro in Monterey?"

"I am sure they are talking about him in Spain by now!" she said. "The most astonishing stories."

"And most of them are, I'm sure, greatly exaggerated." Rafael looked irritated.

Senorita Margarita laughed a little. "Well, I'm sure that's true: In the most recent tale he brought a dead man back to life so that the old peasant woman accused of his murder wouldn't have to hang for the crime."

Gilberto made a choking sound. "Old peasant woman!" he croaked.

"Oh, God help us if _that_ gets back to her," Don Alejandro muttered.

Loudly, Diego said, "Our Zorro does seem to perform miracles, but as yet he does not revive the dead." He refused to look in Gilberto's direction or acknowledge his helpless chortles. "It was all a fraud. There was no murder, only an actor who pretended to be dead."

"Truly? It must be a fascinating story!"

"Perhaps after we've refreshed ourselves from our travels?" Rafael said pointedly.

The guests were quickly installed in their rooms with tubs of warm water and light snacks...and the excitement was over for the moment. The twins went to the back courtyard and sat in the shade. Gilberto worked on English, Felipe weeded the rosebushes, and Diego threw some grain down to attract models and drew studies of birds.

Diego didn't draw clouds anymore. Or Victoria either. He hadn't in weeks. Instead he drew horses racing across a meadow, the play of water as it danced over rocks, a short round priest leading an overburdened and sad donkey, an old man fussing over an injured sheep. There was one of Felipe frowning over the battered old kettle that formed the casing for his ugly but serviceable still.

Diego made a small painting of Gilberto playing the piano. He'd done a drawing of him wielding a sword, a beautiful image of a fencer mid-strike, but that one he had burned. "No one must ever think of him that way," he'd explained regretfully.

When he drew Toronado he always retouched it afterward to change the coloring. Felipe had five of those pinned to the wall in his room.

But although he drew all the other things in his life that he loved, there was not one new picture of Victoria, and Felipe was concerned.

After a little while, Rafael joined them. He clouted the twins across the shoulders and tossed Diego a copy of a newspaper that was only a few months old. "This is just your sort of entertainment," he said.

"It's appreciated," Diego answered.

"Uncle Alejandro wrote mother that you were doing better. I'm glad to see..." he stopped awkwardly.

"I'm much better these days, thank you."

Rafael glanced at Gilberto who nodded. "His activity is more limited than he would like. Hmm. Don't let him talk you into anything."

"I'm very well behaved," Diego protested absently. He had put aside his art supplies and was reverently scanning the old newspaper.

"_You_ would think so," Gilberto said. "It is a minority opinion."

"Yes, very funny," Diego was more interested in the paper then Gilberto's mild goading. "I am a model patient. Oh my! A round of arrests in Madrid. I only recognize one of the names..."

That got Gilberto's attention and he came to look over Diego's shoulder. Rafael, in turn, began to flip through Diego's portfolio. "Look at that later," he said. "Tell me about Spain. I've never been."

Diego apologized and set aside the paper. Felipe turned back to weeding: he'd heard all the stories about Madrid already.

In under two minutes he changed his mind. It turned out that the stories the twins told their cousin was different than the ones they told Victoria or even their father. Felipe sat riveted for half an hour before Don Alejandro and Senorita Margarita came into the courtyard and the stories were suddenly much less interesting.

They spent a quiet evening at home and gave their tired guests a simple supper. The only really unpleasant part of the evening was that Felipe was - even now - expected to join the family at dinner. Even with company! It was simply unfair.

The next day they took their guests on a tour of the ranch. Everyone was on horses, but it was a leisurely ride. Even reluctant Esperanza kept up with the group with no special urging from Diego.

It was lovely time to see the ranch: the winter wheat was up, everything was green, the cactuses growing on the little ridge were setting fruits, and the cattle, of course, were getting plump and glossy. The morning was festive and pleasant. At lunchtime, they stopped for a picnic in a little meadow by Boulder Creek before heading back to the house.

Later, after siesta, Don Alejandro sent Felipe into town with a message for Victoria. The twins' birthday was the next day, and she was coming out to the hacienda for supper. Don Alejandro had always expected to throw a huge celebration when Diego and Gilberto turned twenty-five, but he had sat the boys down for a discussion a month ago. The last big party had exhausted and overwhelmed Diego. Almost apologetically, Don Alejandro had explained that he wasn't sure asking Diego to endure another would be a kindness...but he didn't want them to think that this special occasion was barely noticed by their father.

Diego had flushed then and ground his teeth, but Gilberto immediately proclaimed that he was perfectly satisfied with a small party. He had glanced at Diego's embarrassment and said quickly added, "Forgive me, Father, but I am_ not_ ready to get married. I am simply not. And the last party, all those girls...I felt like a prize bull being checked over for sale."

It was impossible to tell what Don Alejandro was thinking in response to this. Obviously it was true that Gilberto _didn't _want to get married. But even Felipe couldn't tell if he was mentioning it now to deflect attention from Diego's embarrassment or if he was taking this opportunity to state his preferences aloud at a time when his father couldn't pressure him in the other direction. Except, of course, Don Alejandro really didn't ever press the issue. That morning, he only rose casually and asked Diego to join him for a walk in the garden.

In any case, the birthday party would be just family and a few close friends: Senorita Victoria, Don Carlos, Father Benitez, the Pascals, and Luis Cristobal (who had finally announced his engagement to the younger Pascal girl).

When he reached town the tavern wasn't open for dinner yet, so Felipe tied Sunshine up front and went to the kitchen door. Victoria and one of the town girls were making fruit pies. She gave Felipe a little pie and a glass of orange juice (still very sour from the dry summer) while she read Don Alejandro's note and wrote a quick reply on the back. "How are things at home?"

Felipe told her things were good. He considered telling her about Cousin Rafael and Margarita, but she wouldn't know most of the signs and anyway, she would meet them herself tomorrow.

When he came around the tavern to go home, he stopped in surprise. A wagon was coming into town. It was full of men - poor men, still dressed in their work clothes, and they were chained and guarded by lancers on horseback. Felipe looked again. He knew three of the prisoners. Not well, but they greeted Diego after church or came by the house to sell beans or corn.

Felipe scrambled onto sunshine and took off for home at a run.

He found Don Alejandro and the company in the parlor sipping wine and chatting. "Oh. Felipe, come in. Do you have the - "

Felipe told him what he'd seen in town. He had to tell him twice, because Don Alejandro couldn't sign very fast.

"_Who_ are the soldiers arresting?"

"Lots of people. Farmers."

Don Alejandro set down his glass. "I should go."

"I'll go with you," Rafael said at once.

"I, too," Margarita said.

"It won't be very pleasant. It's no place for a women."

"Oh, nonsense. Women must _live_ there. And I've wanted to see Los Angeles."

Felipe gently tugged Don Alejandro's sleeve. "Where is Gilberto?"

The question seemed to surprise him. "Gilberto? Diego went to lie down a little while ago. Gilberto is checking on him. You'd best tell him what's happening, although he might not want to come if Diego wants the company."

Rafael was saying, "Be reasonable, my dear. If there is some kind of trouble in town - "

Felipe spun and ran to Diego's room. _Zorro_ needed to go to town, not this refined woman. But when he came around the corner from the sitting room, Felipe froze. Diego wasn't resting, he was sick.

A cravat was lying on the floor, clawed off and tossed aside. The window was open. Diego sat in the chair, straining to breathe slowly and deeply instead of frantic gasps. Gilberto looked up at the sound of footsteps, but Diego was too ill to do anything but breathe.

"What happened?" Felipe demanded angrily. "He was fine when I left! It was a quiet morning! He was fine! What did you do?"

Gilberto shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing." He rubbed Diego's arm reassuringly. "We were in the parlor talking and Diego went to the bookshelf to show Margarita...I don't know a plate or something. He was pale when he turned around...a few minutes later he said he was 'tired.' If I hadn't come to check on him, he'd still be alone. But it was _nothing_. He didn't do anything that would bring this on."

Felipe closed his eyes. There was no one to blame, nothing to do differently. Diego's heart faltered sometimes. There was nothing to do but endure. "How bad?" he asked, when he could.

"The worst in a month or more," Gilberto said sadly.

"There is no point...in telling father," Diego said, speaking carefully. "He has company...to look after."

And Felipe remembered what he'd been coming to tell them. Oh, God. He cringed miserably.

"What is it?" Gilberto asked.

"They've gone. They went to town," Felipe said reluctantly.

"Why? They hadn't planned to."

Felipe told him.

"The alcalde is arresting farmers. Why?"

Felipe didn't know.

Gilberto buried his face in his hands.

"Go," Diego commanded.

Gilberto groaned.

"Go."

Felipe gently touched Gilberto's hand. "I will take care of him." Which was a lie, and they all knew it. Nothing, really, could be done for Diego when he was ill like this. It happened without warning or reason, and they were all helpless in the face of it.

Gilberto took a deep breath and nodded. He squeezed Diego's shoulder briefly and then turned and left without looking back.

Z

Diego rested. It had taken an hour for the attack to pass. He hadn't wanted stories or sips of water or a blanket, and he had held tightly to Felipe's hand for most of it...

But it had passed, finally, and Diego was resting now. Lightly, Felipe touched his hand and asked, "Bed?"

"No, I'll come out to supper. The others will be back before too long. I don't want to spoil things."

Felipe thought about that. "If you don't go to supper, _I_ don't have to go to supper." He tried to look hopeful and pleading.

Diego saw through this ploy, of course. "Nice try. But I'll be fine."

"Warm bath?" Felipe suggested. That was one of Father Benitez's tricks, and it did seem to soothe and strengthen Diego a little.

"Perhaps when Gilberto returns. I know you don't like to help with that."

Well, in fact, he hated it. If Diego should fall getting in or out (Wet feet! Slick floor! Slippery skin...) or if he should faint in the water and drown...all in all, bathing seemed much more dangerous to Felipe than mounting a horse or going for a walk.

"Settle down," Diego said gently. "I'm - " he looked up, and Felipe looked, too. A moment later Gilberto ran in. He was still tying his cravat and his shirt was buttoned lopsidedly.

"I can't be too far ahead of them. Oh. Thank God. You look better."

"You look like a hard night on the town."

"Eh? What?"

Felipe pointed at the uneven shirt. With an impatient curse, Gilberto undid his cravat and began picking out the buttons.

Diego closed his eyes and asked languidly, "What happened in the pueblo?"

"I'm almost embarrassed to tell you, it was so stupid. My God, that man. He had arrested a dozen men with taxes in arrears and was charging them with treason."

Diego sat up. "What? Why? What would be the point?"

"Well, you can seize the property of people convicted of treason," Gilberto drawled.

"But he can't have expected to get away with it!" Diego paused tiredly. "Was this another trap? Or some kind of diversion?...What did Zorro do?"

"I used one of your little packages to break open his safe, stole the money, and used it to pay the taxes."

Diego began to laugh.

"Well, all right, it _wasn't_ particularly subtle. But an absurd plan like that didn't deserve subtle!"

Diego hunched forward, laughing harder.

"I wasn't thinking about being clever. I was thinking about getting home," Gilberto whined defensively.

Diego couldn't answer.

"I would like to see you think of a better idea."

Diego sobered. "I shouldn't laugh. But, oh, everyone in town must be laughing at Ramone - quietly, _very _quietly! But laughing." He took a couple of deep breaths. "I shouldn't laugh. You've shown him to be helpless. Again. We know how he hates you..."

"Not more than I hate him."

"Did you fight him? Today?"

Gilberto finished his cravat and leaned to the side to check his reflection in the mirror. "No. There was a fight with the lancers. It went rather badly for them."

Diego sighed. "Ramone has no limits: neither sense nor compassion moderates his moods...I hate that you are the focus of his rage."

"Better me than the poor farmers."

Diego couldn't argue with that. "I wish we knew if he was up to something...I don't suppose you'd consider searching his office tonight?"

"I didn't find anything when I searched it last night," Gilberto shrugged.

"You searched it last night?"

"I was bored, so I rode out...Maybe I should search his quarters? Harder to manage that, unless he's working late or spending the night at his estate."

Diego sighed. He looked very tired. Felipe nudged Gilberto. "Get him into a bath?"

"Good idea."

After a warm bath and a short rest, Diego regained some of his energy. He joined the family for supper. If his father noticed anything amiss in Diego's color or demeanor, he didn't mention it. The conversation at the table was all about Zorro and his remarkable performance in the plaza. Apparently, Gilberto had put on quite a show. Dona Lucia, Margarita's duenna, listened to the story with wide eyes and claimed she didn't believe any of it. Rafael was not interested in Zorro, but he fumed and fussed over the Alcalde's behavior. Gilberto, meanwhile, asked innocent questions and praised Zorro to the heavens and went on and on about how fortunate Los Angeles was to have him. He didn't even stop when Diego kicked him under the table.

The grand grown-ups were occupied enough with each other that they ignored Felipe. Much to his relief. He got to eat in peace.


	11. Dec 5, 1813

_So. For whoever is still reading...the birthday at last. _

**Dec 5, 1813**

It was just before dawn that morning when Gilberto came dancing in. He was only wearing his dressing gown and he was grinning like a little boy. Felipe groaned inwardly and sat up, leaning around the doorway to the bedroom. Gilberto had perched himself on Diego's bed and was shaking him without the least sympathy. "Wake up, Little Brother. We're twenty-five! Diego?"

"Yes, I'm awake. Ugh. You're older, you know: you be twenty-five, and I'll sleep for a while."

"Three minutes. I'm three minutes older."

"Oh, for goodness' sake - "

"What? You want three minutes more sleep?" He took Diego's pocket watch off the bedside table. "Okay, start now."

"You are such a jerk sometimes," Diego laughed. But he sat up and rubbed his face. "Happy birthday, 'Berto."

"So, I should tell you. The present Father knows about, you'll get that later. But the present Father doesn't know about, that's in the laboratory. I got you a quantity of phosphorus."

Diego laughed and rolled his eyes. "Home made?"

"If I made a joke like that, I'd get a lecture," Gilberto said with feigned indignation.

Diego ignored this. "Felipe? It is both explosive and toxic. I don't want you handling it."

Felipe already knew - both that several jars of it were stored in the cave and that it was amazingly dangerous. He did pay attention to the chemistry lessons.

"And." Diego opened the drawer in the bedside table. "The present Father knows about is unspeakably boring, and you will get it later with due fanfare. But this is yours as well." He held out a tiny, wicked knife.

Gilberto took it, turned it in the light, tossed it in a neat flip. It was a gift for Zorro. "This is beautiful," he said. And then he handed it back. "I'd rather have what you gave me last year."

Diego pretended to study the knife in his hand. "I'm not sure that is a...wise precedent to set. Someday I'm not going to be able to keep that promise, and it...it will be bad enough without so specifically failing you..."

Felipe waved an arm at them. "What did he give you last year?"

Suddenly, the twins were not looking at each other. Diego said, "Last year...I wasn't doing well. I hadn't been shopping in a couple months, I hadn't been out of our quarters, obviously...and when I apologized to Gilberto because I had nothing..."

"I asked him for another birthday," Gilberto said too softly. "One more year."

Oh. Felipe swallowed hard.

"Diego, I know that some day...Some day, it will be too much, and I won't ask, but..."

"I promise," Diego whispered. "Another year." He glanced down.

"Diego - "

Diego held out the knife. "Take it."

"I only want the other gift - "

"You know I'll use the phosphorus for Zorro. Well, this as well - It is for Zorro." Diego frowned. "You are as much at risk as I am. Surely, you know I...Gilberto, take the damned knife."

He took it from Diego's hand.

"All right, then," Diego said.

Gilberto left a few minutes later. When he was gone, Felipe retrieved a tiny bottle and brought it to the bed. "Happy Birthday."

Diego's eyes were fixed on the tiny bottle. He took it reverently and tilted it so that the slightly viscous liquid within rolled a bit up the side. There were only a few drops, and Felipe was struck by how inadequate the little gift was.

Diego smiled very slowly. "This is your rose oil," he guessed.

Felipe nodded.

Diego uncapped the tiny bottle and sniffed. "It's magnificent," he murmured. He closed his eyes and sniffed again. "The quality is very good."

Something tense and jumpy in Felipe's belly relaxed at that.

And then Diego said, "I'm very proud of you. You did very good work with this."

Felipe sighed.

"Come give me a hug," Diego said. "And then we need to get dressed. It's going to be a busy day."

After breakfast, Felipe slipped out to exercise Toronado. The twins were too busy and would be too closely watched today to be able to get down to the cave. He wasn't allowed - or willing - to ride him without one of the twins around, but he led the stallion outside and slipped the bridle. The whistle drills had not been too difficult to learn. The two he couldn't actually _hear_, he knew the feel of. Felipe sat on a rock and dangled his feet in the tiny trickle of stream while Toronado ran off his extra energy.

Z

The message he had been bringing back from town the afternoon before - in all the excitement forgotten until after dinner - had been Victoria's acceptance of a ride into town for the party and a room for the night so that she would not be traveling home when it was very late. Although she generally got by with as few employees as she could manage, for this special occasion she was taking the day off and leaving the tavern in the hands of - of all people - Mendoza, who was expending a day of leave in order to play barman.

When Felipe finished working with Toronado he went back to the house and found Diego ready to go fetch Victoria. They would be taking the carriage, not the little rig: it was likely Victoria was bringing clothes and they would need the space. Felipe did not ask if Diego was feeling strong enough to make the trip to town and back. Diego wasn't in the mood to be reminded of his frailty. Felipe himself didn't especially want to think of it. And anyway, Diego was moving easily enough...and his color was fine...

Felipe really, really hoped today was a good day.

It was certainly a lovely day. Just warm enough, with a sweet breeze and fluffy clouds. The short trip to Los Angeles passed pleasantly, and Victoria was waiting when they reached the tavern. Grinning, she gave Diego a brief, chaste hug and wished him many happy returns.

Diego thanked her - a bit awkwardly - and changed the subject to how the tavern would fare under Mendoza's tenure.

Victoria laughed. "Do you know, he's not a bad cook! It's almost a shame he's a lancer, I think he might be happier in civilian employment...And he is honest..."

"He can act as his own bouncer," Diego put in.

"As long as he does not eat up all the profits, I think he will do very well."

On the trip back passed in a stream of contented chatter. Diego showed off the rose oil Felipe had given him and told her about the chemistry lessons. Victoria told funny stories about a family that had recently stayed with her. They had quarreled about everything. All the time. "They were even worse than you and Don Gilberto," she said, laughing.

"Gilberto and I never argue," Diego protested with a serious face. "Even if we weren't both mild and even tempered by nature, we never disagree."

Victoria nearly fell out of the carriage laughing.

Z

Lunch was supposed to be a relaxed, pleasant affair. Simple and undemanding, since the party was coming later in the afternoon. Don Carlos accidently put an end to that, though, before the bread even reached the table. "So I hear you were in town yesterday for the excitement," he said. He had no way of knowing it was a delicate topic.

Margarita, glowing with enthusiasm, launched - again - into the tale of Zorro's magnificent ride into the pueblo. She praised his cleverness and boldness. She went on and on, until Diego remarked - without a smile - that boldness was one way to describe 'completely lacking in subtlety.'

Victoria, who had been quiet, almost distracted, until that point, immediately chastised Diego for being too critical. "I suppose you will also complain that the _alcalde_ was unsubtle!"

The look that Margarita gave Diego was openly hurt. "How can you! After all Zorro has done for the people! His move was brilliant. He made fools of the alcalde's men."

Impatient, Rafael slapped the table. "This Zorro's the fool. The peasants might be fond of him, but under law, he's just another criminal."

"That's true," Don Alejandro said. "If he's ever caught, Zorro will surely hang."

"The people would never allow it," Victoria said staunchly. "Zorro is a great hero."

"What a thought," Gilberto muttered.

Margarita and Rafael were quarrelling, now. Felipe had no idea what they were saying, since they were both talking at the same time.

Gilberto said something that made Diego kick him under the table.

Don Carlos gave Felipe an incredulous look and smothered a laugh. Felipe tried to smile back, but the quarreling wasn't just embarrassing. The subject of Zorro's fate at the hands of the law wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about.

Something Rafael had said must have irked Victoria, because she turned suddenly and said, "No, you have it all wrong. Zorro Doesn't - "

Margarita bristled at the criticism directed at her fiancé. "And I suppose you know better!"

"Of course I know better. I live here in Los Angeles. I have actually _met_ him." She smiled wistfully. "I have spoken to Zorro many times."

Margarita opened her mouth, from the look on her face to say something scathing, but Don Alejandro cleared his throat loudly and said, "What is the latest news from the territorial capital?"

Rafael came to himself first. He shot Margareta a dark look and quickly apologized. The conversation from there wandered to the various petty scandals of Monterrey: the shamefully public quarrel between the head of the garrison and the harbormaster, the visit of an American (!) ship in July, a long-standing feud over water rights that turned suddenly to murder. The rest of the meal passed in relative peace.

The whole thing was just stupid, of course. Pining after Zorro! There was a lot to be said for heroism, but _living_ with a hero, having to talk to him every day, putting up with his whims, that was something else entirely. Zorro was very good with a sword, but to have sit with at every meal? He was insufferable! Arrogant and vane and irritable. Felipe had reason to know. He'd lived most of his life with "Zorro," and it had only been bearable because mutual dislike let them avoid each other's company most of the time.

Z

"You should tell her," Felipe said as Diego sat down on the edge of his bed to remove his shoes for siesta.

"Tell her what?" he asked absently.

Felipe rolled his eyes. "That you want to marry her."

Diego froze. "That I - "

Felipe nodded with exaggerated patience.

"We're friends. There is nothing else between us."

Well, that was true. "She likes you, though. She likes you a lot."

Diego shifted his eyes away, and Felipe followed into his field of vision. "She likes you more than Gilberto. On and _on_ about Zorro. It wouldn't be a good idea. She would be happier with you."

Very softly, very patiently, Diego said, "She will find someone. It won't be Zorro. But she'll find someone, and she'll be happy."

"It might be Zorro," Felipe protested. "It would be a mistake, but Gilberto has to marry someone, and she's _very _beautiful. He might..."

Diego was slowly shaking his head. "Do you know, if I thought Gilberto would be happy with her, I could almost...but he wouldn't be. He wouldn't...he barely finds women tolerable, at least when thinking of them as _wives_. He is twenty-five, and in his whole life...he has only ever loved one."

Oh. Tentatively, Felipe asked, "Can't he marry her?"

Diego looked at Felipe hard. "Zafira was intelligent and bold and as forthright as any man. She...could keep up with him." He took a breath and collected himself. "But the moment she wasn't the center of attention, the moment it was clear she didn't have him completely wrapped around her finger...She was quite cruel. The easiest thing to say is that she toyed with his affections." He laughed once, mirthlessly. "The honest thing to say is that she broke his heart. If their genders had been reversed, and Gilberto had been my twin _sister_ and Zafira some suitor, well, I would have had to challenge him for such base behavior."

Felipe just blinked at that. Diego said such odd things sometimes. Gilberto a girl! Just bizarre.

Diego nodded. "But you cannot challenge a woman, no mater how cruel she is." And that thought was just as odd, but at least familiar. "Ah, well. In any case I was much too ill then to even think of lifting a sword, so it is just as well that Gilberto was born my brother. But. He would not ever be happy with Victoria. She is far too sweet for him."

"_So_," Felipe prodded. "She would be happy with you. She likes you a lot!"

"Felipe...I could never be a good husband to her."

Well that was just too absurd a thing to let pass, even for Diego. "What do you mean? You wouldn't beat her or turn her out in the street. You'd let her buy anything she wanted! And you'd never complain or scold - "

Diego was shaking his head. "Leaving aside how cruel it would be to widow her so young...women expect husbands to give them children," he answered softly. "Felipe, you know how these things happen. I am not strong enough."

Felipe had a sudden, horrible image of the mares in the meadow...and the stallions. Surly, surely between men and women it was nothing like _that._

He certainly hoped not.

But even if it wasn't, Diego still couldn't take a flight of stairs without stopping in the middle to get his breath. And stopping _again_, at the top. Oh, God, but it was _so_ unfair! Diego had fought so hard and come so far and _still_, he would never have the life that he wanted.

"If you'll forgive me, Felipe, I don't want to continue this conversation."

Hastily - embarrassed, confused, knotted up with pity - Felipe signed an apology and backed away into the sitting room. It was just _so_ unfair. So many men were bad husbands or terrible fathers...so many people didn't appreciate the lives they had. And here, Diego...

As hard as it would be to share Diego's attention with Victoria all the time, Felipe was old enough to know that it was _not_ the same...and that Diego deserved the grown-up happiness he'd waited so long for.

He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up and hid his face.

Z

Diego was just rising from siesta when there was a soft knock at the door. Felipe finished slipping on his shoes and quickly opened the door: Father Benitez. Felipe smiled and stepped back. Father Benitez smiled back and blessed him.

Diego came around the corner. "Who is it - ?"

"I thought, since I was a little early, I might check to see how you were doing."

"That was very thoughtful," Diego said. "Thank you."

Father Benitez eyed him shrewdly. "But perhaps you would rather have forgotten, today?"

"Perhaps I would, but I can never quite manage it."

"Come sit down, then. Let me take a look." He led Diego to desk and pulled out the straight chair. Felipe settled on the stool across the room to wait. He had seen his examination before. The priest briskly checked ankles and fingertips. He tilted Diego's head back and checked his eyes. "Are you sleeping well? Any trouble with your digestion?" He placed his ear on Diego's chest and listened in several places, alternately instructing him to breathe...and then not. Felipe knew what the priest was looking for in all of these, but it was when he bared Diego's neck and ran his fingers up the sides - this was the part that always puzzled him. "What are - ?" Abruptly he remembered how rude it was to interrupt - and he was disturbing a priest, at that - and snatched his hands down.

"Felipe? Were you saying something?" Diego asked.

'

They were both looking at him, now. Wincing inwardly, Felipe asked, "What are you looking for, in his neck?"

Father Benitez crossed himself swiftly and traded an inscrutable look with Diego. "I am an idiot," he said.

"Both of us," Diego said. "Come here."

Nervously, Felipe approached. Father Benitez took his arm and guided him around to the lighter side. "It is a matter of circulation. How do I explain this? The heart moves blood through fine tubes in the body."

Diego touched his hand. "Father, he spends a great deal of time with the medical books. I had thought it was general interest. Or perhaps...well, there are injuries, sometimes, on a ranch." And, of course, someday the soldiers shooting at Zorro might not miss, and _yes_, that had been part of it.

Father Benitez nodded. "I see. Well, then. If the action of the heart is ineffective...you have seen a stream that is blocked by a log? How the water backs up on one side and trickles out on the other? A trickle exiting the heart may result in weakness, but that is not the only sign."

Felipe saw it all at once: "The blood that can't pass through will back up and swell the veins!" And you could see it, there where the veins passed beneath the skin in the neck.

"What was that last, Diego?"

"Fingerspelling," Diego whispered. "'Veins.'"

"Yes. You have it. It is not proof of disaster, by itself. But it is something to watch."

Felipe nodded.

"Hmmm. What else?" he frowned. "Diego tells me your hearing is not particularly good, even now? You cannot hear his heart? Here, give me your hand."

Though it felt terribly awkward, there was no way to refuse even if Felipe had wanted to. He held out his right hand. Father Benitez pressed it against Diego's back. "Just here. What do you feel?"

Both of them were looking at him, which made it hard to pay attention, but after a moment he realized what the priest must be looking for. He withdrew his hand and said, "Like a cat, purring."

"Yes, how apt. Very like a cat."

"It shouldn't feel like that..." Felipe realized. He knew the feel of his own heart, and Sunshine's, and a new lamb's. "What is this? How do we fix it?"

Father Benitez gave him a hard, sad look. "It cannot be fixed. I have seen this myself only a few times, but it is the most compelling evidence that the true problem lies with the valves of his heart. They cannot be repaired by any means we know. And the vibration will grow worse...although, with the Good Lord's help, the change will be so slow that you do not notice it."

Felipe thought of the diagrams in the anatomy book, and their neat Latin labels. He swallowed dryly and nodded.

"Do _not_ panic and check every day. You are with him every day. You would know he was in trouble without that. But look, if he is feeling poorly and you find vibration here...or here..." He laid Felipe's hand flat along Diego's ribs. "That is when you ask for help."

"The water in him. But we would know before that. If he stopped peeing."

Father Benitez's brows rose. "You told me he was quick, Diego. And yes, that is one cause of congestion in the lungs. But not the only one, and it would be a serious problem whatever the cause."

"Oh. Now," Diego said. "Don't look at me like that. I wouldn't conceal it if I were ill."

"Of course not," Father Benitez said smoothly. "But you are an optimist. You might wait an extra day, hoping things would improve by themselves. Felipe is _not _an optimist."

Felipe nodded. "Please," he said, "what else?"

"The rest of it you know, I think. You've been paying attention for months." He turned back to Diego. "As for _you_, you are clearly quite well. There is no need to waste your time with all this fussing. I'll leave you alone to finish dressing."

Z

Although the party was small, everyone was very dressed up and formal. It was very grand. Don Alejandro and Gilberto played a four-handed piece as the evening began. The music was complex and playful and it made Felipe's bones itch to do...something? Dance, perhaps? Fly? Race across a field on Sunshine's back?

The music lessons must be helping. As big and strong as the music was, he didn't feel the least like wanting to hide or cover his ears.

When they had finished the piece, Don Alejandro rose to begin the evening with a toast. As glasses were filed and passed around it seemed to Felipe that Don Alejandro was more solemn than proud or happy. It occurred to him that - with Diego so ill and the territory so torn by conflict and corruption - that he might find this party difficult.

"Twenty-five years," he said. "My sons are twenty-five." He glanced down, then back over his guests. "Do you know, when the midwife told me there were two..._that_ was when I learned the meaning of fear. _Two_ children and my Felicidad, and the thought that I might lose all of them in just a few hours or days..." He shrugged. "And I thought, how naive I had been, taking it all for granted, thinking becoming a father would be easy. But then, well, you have seen them. Two perfect sons. Intelligent, strong, fearless..."

Here he smiled a little. "When they were seven, they decided to teach themselves to handle livestock. They started by roping the goats. That wasn't challenging enough so they tried the pigs...When they were nine, they discovered that if you attached a rope to the ledge over the hayloft in the barn, you could swing from the roof of the house to the roof of the woodshed. I had the woodshed torn down and moved." Several people laughed at that. Felipe was sorry to have missed it, though.

"When they were twelve, they borrowed my best horse and took turns leaping Devil's Gorge." He studied his glass of wine and waited for the scattered laughter to die down. "When they were sixteen, they brought home a small child. I was as frightened of that as I was of the trick with the rope and the roof. I was sure it could only end in utter heartbreak." His eyes fastened apologetically on Felipe, and Felipe could not bring himself to look away. "Of course, I knew there was no point in talking to Diego. He was too kind-natured to see reason, I thought. So I appealed to 'Berto," he cleared his throat. Twice. "Who very quickly explained that however sadly this ended, it would be better than if they had left him...and that if they had, 'Berto himself would never have slept another night in peace as long as he lived."

That? _Gilberto_ had said that?

"They were right, as I quickly came to see. I think perhaps Felipe has given us much more than we have given him."

Shocked and mortified, Felipe took a step backwards. Diego's hand closed on his shoulder, steadying and stilling him.

"When I sent them to Madrid...For months, I...well I couldn't regret it, obviously. I could hardly begrudge them the chance to see the world. As...As much as the difficulties in Madrid took from them, they were strong enough, brave enough to make the return home. I suspect many men could not have managed so much. Everything they have undertaken, my boys, no matter how mad or how impossible or how dangerous...they have succeeded. They are patient and kind and as much help as anyone could ask. Diego has taken over the domestic accounts and Gilberto...That business with the witch last fall; everyone credits me with discovering the fraud. But it was only at Gilberto's urging that I tested her. He was the shrewd one, not I. So. To my sons. Happy birthday. And to the next twenty-five years of scaring me out of my wits."

There was toasting and scattered applause. Gilberto looked as aghast as Felipe felt, but Diego stepped forward and offered a toast of his own. No doubt it was graceful and affectionate, but Felipe was too giddy to properly listen. When the guests dispersed for a few minutes for snacks and small conversations. Diego pulled them both aside into the hall that led to the bedrooms. "What is the matter with the two of you?"

"He knows," Gilberto hissed. "Did you_ hear_ him? He knows!"

Diego shook him. Fairly hard. "No!" he whispered fiercely. "Stop being stupid. If he knew, he would confront you. Father does not play games. Does he?"

Gilberto dropped his head. "No...but."

"Well then?"

"You saw the way he looked at me?"

"As though he were proud of you? _Yes_? He loves you. It's hardly a shock."

"Yes, yes, but..."

"Stop being an idiot. Right now. We do not have time." He fixed Gilberto with a hard look until he caved. "Get a hold of yourself. Smile. Go be charming." Diego patted his shoulder and nudged him back toward the crowd.

Then he turned to Felipe. "And you?" He signed close to his body. "Are you also sure we are discovered?"

Felipe shook his head. "He trusts me," he confessed. "He thinks I am only taking care of you, and - " _What_ a lie. He was helping Diego in madness, helping Gilberto endanger himself. Keeping the most important secret in the pueblo.

Diego sighed impatiently. "Aren't you? I am much better now than I was when I came home. What we're doing hasn't hurt me. You haven't failed in your duty."

Felipe bit his lip.

Diego sighed. "Do you remember why we started this? Did we have a choice?"

No, of course not.

"Who would be the first casualty, if the alcalde pushes the people to rebellion? Father and Gilberto will be in the middle of any fight. They could not bear to be anywhere else." He slipped a arm around Felipe's shoulder and drew him closer. "Zorro protects this family as much as anyone."

Oh. That was a good point. Still. "He'll be angry when he finds out."

Diego shook his head. "He will be hurt that we kept it from him, but he will understand why." Diego sighed. "He will only be _angry_ if Zorro gets caught."

True. And too horrible to think about.

"All right, Felipe? Now, can you go out there and behave normally and smile? On my birthday?"

So Felipe went back to the party. It would be easiest to find a corner and get out of the way, though: There weren't many people who could talk with him. Gilberto was with Don Antonio and Victoria was whispering with the older Pascal girl. Then a hand tapped his shoulder and Felipe jumped.

"Felipe?" Don Luis was smiling at him. "Everyone says you are the young man to ask for fishing advice. I'll be in town for a few days this time, and I was thinking...since the weather is so nice...?"

"Lots of small fish, or big, smart fish?"

He must have understood that, because Don Luis laughed and said, "Big fish."

Felipe motioned him over to the desk and on a largish scrap of paper (Diego collected them) swiftly drew a map. He knew just the place. It was too near both the mission and the King's Road to be one of Felipe's favorites (too many people), but it was conveniently close to Don Carlos,' where Don Luis was staying.

Clearly pleased, Don Luis checked a couple of the landmarks, then carefully folded the map and put it away. By then, fortunately, it was time for dinner and all Felipe had to worry about was eating.

Z

The meal was pleasant enough. Felipe was seated next to Margarita's duenna, who seemed very stern, but slipped Felipe half her desert when no-one was looking.

After supper, as the party made its way back to the parlor, Don Alejandro slipped behind Felipe and laid an arm across his shoulder. "What I said before," he said quietly, "I didn't upset you, did I?"

Felipe smiled as convincingly as he could and shook his head.

"These past months, you've been so good with Diego. I appreciate it. I know - I know it has been as hard for you as for the rest of us."

Unable to even begin to answer that, Felipe hugged Don Alejandro hard around the waist. That seemed to satisfy him. A few moments later he turned away to say something to Don Luis and Felipe stepped backwards.

In his haste, he nearly walked into Victoria. She didn't notice. She was narrowly watching Margarita, who was closing from the other side. She had a sly look about her, and Felipe wondered what she might be up to.

"Why, Victoria, my dear." Margarita smiled sweetly. "I am so sorry I was short with you earlier. I had no idea who you were. I hope you'll forgive my ignorance. I do so want to hear your story first hand!"

She was so earnest and enthusiastic that Victoria took a half-step backward. "Hardly more ignorant than I am," she said carefully. "Who _am_ I?"

Margarita laughed delicately, "Why the old peasant woman Zorro rescued from the gallows last fall."

Victoria gaped.

Felipe looked around a little franticly, but Diego and Gilberto were far away, on opposite sides of the room...and Cousin Rafael was over by the piano. And Don Alejandro was deep in discussion with the older men. And no one was looking in this direction.

Margarita was pressing her advantage. "You aren't _old_, obviously. Well, not very old. But you know how these stories get embellished with the telling. That's why I am so anxious to hear it from you. It must have been so terrifying, dragged away by lancers and tossed into a filthy dungeon."

Holding herself very erect and speaking with exaggerated politeness, she answered, "The soldiers were very polite, the cell was very clean and in the jail, not a dungeon. And I am not a peasant."

Margarita's eyes widened innocently. "Oh, but I did know that, didn't I? I'm so sorry. You..._work_ in a tavern."

Victoria actually blanched at that. And for a moment Felipe couldn't figure out why, since - for all that her tone of voice was scathing - the words were true. Felipe figured out that Margarita had called Victoria a prostitute at about the same moment that Victoria slapped Margarita across the face.

Margarita gasped, a dainty hand going to her face. She leaned toward Victoria and whispered, "If this is how women in Los Angeles behave, I can certainly imagine that Zorro is ready for a change!"

"If you think Zorro would have anything to do with a rich, lazy, selfish bitch who lives off the hard work of others - " She broke off, ducking, as Margarita swung a heavy vase at her head. Water from the vase sloshed over Felipe's chest and he skipped backward. His foot came down wrong, and he started to fall. A strong hand pushed him back up, and he looked in time to see Gilberto slide past him, insert himself between Victoria and Margarita and catch the flailing vase on the backswing.

Replacing the dripping vase on the table, he seized Victoria in one hand and Felipe in the other and hustled them - his broad body between Victoria and Margarita - across the hall to Diego who was standing, astonished, in the library. Gilberto pushed Victoria into Diego's arms. "For God's sake, get her out of here!"

Felipe looked back. Rafael had an arm around Margarita and was leading her toward the front door. Good. Perhaps he could get her aside and talk some sense into her. Or calm her down. Or remind her what manners were -

Or feed her to a passing mountain lion.

Margarita probably thought it was beneath her to expend manners on Victoria. Felipe felt a little sick. But really, he shouldn't be so surprised. He'd been spoiled, living with the de le Vegas. They were polite to everyone. Don Alejandro never forgot to say thank you to anyone, even the stable boy.

Diego had taken Victoria's arm and was escorting her - as grandly as though they were going in to church - toward the back door.

Those remaining in the room - the Pascals, Don Luis, Don Carlos, Father Benitez - looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. Given the choice of staying with them or following Diego and Victoria, Felipe chose the latter.

He trailed them into the back courtyard. "Oh, Diego - "

"Isn't it a lovely evening," Diego said cheerfully. "We've had an owl out here recently. Perhaps if - "

She pulled her arm free and moved to stand in front of him. "Don Diego I am so sorry! and on your birthday and everything. I don't know what came over me."

Diego sighed. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what that was all about?"

"It was nothing. It was stupid."

Diego considered her. "You slapped her over nothing?"

Victoria shrugged and looked away.

Well, that wasn't right. Victoria had been provoked, even if she was too polite to say so. He tapped Diego's shoulder and when he looked he said, "The woman - " he was not going to bother giving Margarita a name - "called her a peasant and a - " Oh. No. He couldn't repeat that, and now he saw why Victoria _wouldn't_. He gulped and dropped his hands.

"I see," Diego said. He turned back to Victoria. "Do you think you hit her hard enough?"

Victoria gasped. Then she started to laugh.

She didn't see Diego close his eyes and collect himself before he took her hand and patted it reassuringly. She looked earnestly up at him and apologized for making a fuss at the party.

"You are normally our least troublesome guest." He sighed. "I confess, I am not sure what Rafael sees in her."

"She is _beautiful_," Victoria said immediately.

"Oh. Well, then. She has my sympathy. It must be unbearable to come here to our little backwater and find herself outshone by you."

Felipe was startled by this outrageous flattery, but Victoria only sighed and tucked her hand through Diego's arm. "How do you manage to be so calm and patient? If you started a fight during _my_ party..."

"I've fought in your tavern twice! You were very forgiving both times."

It occurred to Felipe that - for all Diego's protests that they were only friends - something might be gained by leaving them alone at this moment. Silently, he slipped back to the house.

Don Carlos was playing the guitar while the two Pascal girls, Don Luis and Gilberto, did some kind of complicated partner dance. He found a corner to sit and watch. To his disappointment, it was only a few minutes before Diego and Victoria returned to the party. When Don Alejandro asked Victoria to dance, Diego gave her up with no sign of regret.

There was dancing and party games. When Rafael and Margarita returned, Margarita and Victoria were carefully kept on opposite sides of the room, although everyone pretended not to notice the tension between them.

Don Alejandro presented his sons with their birthday gifts: new saddles for both of them (which pleased Gilberto because he was vane and Diego because it conveyed his father's certainty he would be well enough to make good use of it). The boy's gifts for each other were as boring as promised. Diego gave a box of new silk cravats (expensive, but _so_ dull that Felipe had to hide his laugh behind his hand), while Gilberto gave jars of pigment powder (something Diego really did appreciate).

The party ended before midnight. Really good parties usually didn't, but Felipe suspected that the reason for the early evening wasn't because people weren't having fun but rather because everyone had gotten used to the idea that Diego tired easily, and they didn't wish to embarrass him.

Even so, Felipe thought the party had gone on a bit too long. Diego concealed his unsteadiness until the guests who were leaving had been escorted to their carriages and the guests who were staying had returned to their rooms...but then he allowed Gilberto to take his arm and walk him to the chair in his room. He sat heavily and closed his eyes.

"I think Father was pleased with the party," Gilberto said. He lifted Diego's hand and checked the pulse at his wrist.

"He doesn't know, 'Berto."

"No. Thank God. He'd get involved..."

"He would be delighted," Diego answered. "And he would be so proud of you. But he would worry too much...and fuss too much... and interfere too much...And in the end, because of _me_, he would - "

"Hush, Diego. Enough. How much is he taking before bed now?"

Felipe was already fixing the cup. He turned enough to say, "Five drops, but I'm giving him seven tonight."

Gilberto nodded. "Yes, I think so. Are you tired? I can sit with him for an hour, to make sure?"

Carefully, Felipe handed Diego the cup. "It's fine. Go to bed." He found it wasn't too hard to smile. "Happy birthday."

_~tbc_


	12. Dec 6, 1813

**December 6, 1813**

Despite the long, taxing day, Diego slept very well. Felipe, worried, woke several times to check on him, but no. He was fine.

Consequently, that morning, Diego was rested and chipper and Felipe was yawning and rubbing salt out of his eyes when they opened the bedroom door -

-and walked right into an argument.

"Margarita, be reasonable!"

Diego stopped so sharply that Felipe tripped into him.

"Reasonable? Love and honor and courage are not reasonable. I am sick of your reasonableness."

Whatever Rafael answered, Felipe could not hear it. It must have been too reasonable, though, because Margarita actually pushed him away. "Wedding? There isn't going to be a wedding." She spun on her heel and stalked off.

Down the hall, Gilberto's door popped open. He and Diego shared a single look. Whatever they saw in each other made them disagree vehemently. Diego scowled and Gilberto rolled his eyes. Diego scowled harder. Gilberto gave in.

Diego turned and went after Margarita. Gilberto threw an arm around Rafael and drew him aside.

Suddenly, Felipe found himself alone in the hall, not entirely sure what had happened. Or rather, he knew what had happened, but he didn't know how serious it was or what Diego hoped to do about it.

He went to breakfast.

Don Alejandro and Victoria were just sitting down. The other places were empty. Don Alejandro looked up sharply as he entered. "Is everything all right?" he asked worriedly.

That was a very good question. Felipe answered as much as he could. "Diego is just fine."

"Then where is everyone?"

"Well..." Repeating gossip to the patron in front of a guest would have been bad enough if Felipe had been sure what the gossip actually _was_. "They were fighting."

Don Alejandro snorted. "They always are. It's no reason to miss breakfast."

"Not the twins. Rafael and his woman. She has decided not to get married."

Don Alejandro scowled. He looked very like Diego in that moment.

"What was that?" Victoria asked.

"Never mind." He fixed Felipe with a look. "Sit down and eat."

Gilberto and Rafael showed up before the chocolate got cold. Diego and Margarita not long after that...Breakfast was a somber, overly polite affair. Felipe wished he was still eating in the kitchen.

Z

It was market day. After breakfast everyone was going to go into town to do some shopping. Margarita fussed a bit about how poor the shopping would be so far from civilization. Rafael just looked miserable.

As soon as they meal ended, Diego drew Gilberto aside for a short conference in the library. They conversed in a combination of sign, harsh whispers, and irritated looks that said Diego though Gilberto was being pointlessly obstinate and Gilberto thought Diego was being incredibly stupid. They parted without coming to agreement, and Diego led Felipe out into the back courtyard.

"Margarita says she will not marry Rafael because she has fallen in love with Zorro," he announced.

That was beyond crazy. Felipe could only gape.

"Yes, it's terrible," Diego said. "And it is all our fault."

Surely not. "We haven't known her long enough to make her insane," Felipe said.

Diego seemed not to notice the comment. "Zorro is a myth. No flesh and blood man could possibly compete with him."

Well, yes. But why would anybody want to marry a myth? But then, as far as Zorro was a man, he was Gilberto de le Vega - and who would want to marry him either? "I don't understand."

Diego sighed. "Well. Zorro is a very romantic figure. He is strong and fearless and unstoppable. The attraction is completely understandable...But Rafael is a good man. He does have a great deal to offer. And if we could somehow remind Margarita of that..."

Oh. "You have an idea, and Gilberto won't help you."

"The simplest thing would be for Zorro to lose a duel with Rafael."

That was a surprising thought. "Is Rafael that good?"

"Well...It would take some acting on Zorro's part." He shook his head. "Would have taken: Gilberto won't consider it. Rafael only needs a chance to prove himself in the eyes of his fiancée."

The rushed plan they threw together was...well, to say it was sketchy was putting it generously. Still, it might be enough to do the job, and at least it would distract the quarreling couple and break the tension.

When, a few minutes later, the party left the de le Vega hacienda for the pueblo, Felipe had a briar tucked in his saddle bag. Diego rode in the carriage with Margarita and Victoria, while Don Alejandro and Rafael rode along beside. The party was not a happy one. Gilberto had stayed home - clearly he wanted to stay well out of it. Margarita was pouting. Sitting with her, Victoria and Diego couldn't seem to get a conversation going, despite the fact that the day before they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Rafael was polite enough, but he seemed alternate between despondency and irritation. His answer, when people spoke to him, was vague and distracted.

Felipe kept to the back of the party and thought longingly of fishing.

When they finally reached town, Diego helped Victoria take her things into the tavern. Don Alejandro excused himself to run an errand at the blacksmith's. Margarita, ignoring Rafael, flounced off to inspect the wares offered by the farmers and craftsmen who had set up a line of booths in the square.

This might be the best time, now before they got too far away. It would be good to get it over with, anyway...

Casually, Felipe slipped the briar out of his saddlebag and slipped it under his saddle blanket.

Poor Sunshine's response was immediate. He bucked and lurched, kicking out his back feet. "Hold on with both hands," had been Diego's last, whispered advice. Felipe wrapped his hands around the saddle horn and held on for dear life while Sunshine screamed, unable to move away from the nasty little stings.

It was all Felipe could do to hold his seat. He couldn't have let go to reach the briar even if he'd wanted to.

The strong hand - from the wrong direction to be Rafael - caught him by surprise. Sunshine struggled, but was pulled to a firm halt and Felipe found himself looking down at the immaculate form of Luis Ramone.

For a moment he couldn't breathe. There was no way to retreat, no way to apologize for making a scene in the plaza, no way to avoid that hard, appraising gaze.

Holding Sunshine's head, the alcalde ran a hand along the broad neck. "Easy, boy. Easy." Sunshine shied, but the alcalde held him. "What's the problem here? You're the de le Vega's, aren't you, boy? Surely they taught you to ride?" He ran a hand over Sunshine's flank, up under the saddle blanket. "Well, what have we here?" He produced the spine and held it out. "You've been a victim of a trick, I think." He tossed it aside. "Some advice: when you get your own back, don't do it in a place where it will inconvenience me." He gave Felipe a strange half-smile and walked away.

Shaken, Felipe dragged his eyes away from the alcalde's back. Diego stood on the tavern porch, aghast. Rafael and Margarita were standing in front of a fabric stall, arguing. They weren't raising their voices or waving their arms, but they were arguing just the same. Felipe knew the look of it. And they had been too busy to notice anything.

Felipe turned Sunshine and rode for home.

Z

He had curried Sunshine three times before the family returned from town. Felipe heard Don Alejandro talking as the family went into the house, but one set of footsteps entered the barn.

"Felipe, I'm sorry," Diego said. "I'm sorry. It was a terrible plan. You might have been hurt. We shouldn't have done that to Sunshine. We...I...I am sorry."

Felipe set down the currycomb and turned around. "It was a terrible plan, because that woman is shallow and stupid and vane and your cousin is better off not married to her!"

Diego shook his head. "Zorro - "

"It has nothing to do with Zorro. Zorro did not steal her. _She_ - "

"Women are in a difficult situation. You must see that. Their position, their safety, it has nothing to do with their own talents or efforts. They have so few choices. They have no ambition of their own, except for a husband - "

"That is no excuse! _You_ have 'so few choices.' You are an invalid, and you are never unkind to anyone! _I_ have 'so few choices.' I am mute! And young! And a peasant! A casta even- "

"A _what_?" Diego gasped.

Felipe started to spell out 'casta' again. Diego seized his hand. "You did not learn that word from me!"

Well,_ no_. Not Diego. Of course not.

It occurred to Felipe that he might have gone too far.

"You are a Californian and a person of reason. That - that other stupid business has no place here, not in Los Angeles, not in my father's house."

Way too far. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"That nonsense belongs in the last century. And I thought you knew better."

"I'm sorry."

Diego leaned against a stall door and closed his eyes.

Felipe stepped up beside him, waiting.

"Rafael is so...I know how he feels."

Felipe patted his shoulder. "You can't fix everything. Hey? Do you really think Margarita would be a good wife?"

"That is not for me to decide."

Felipe nodded. "So leave them alone and let them decide."

Diego sighed. "Do you forgive me for dragging you into this...this...?"

"Very bad idea?"

"Yes, this very bad idea."

Felipe hugged him hard.

Z

Margarita didn't come in to supper that evening. When she didn't appear, Don Alejandro asked Felipe to fetch her. She was weeping - loudly enough that Felipe could hear her clearly - and refused to open the door.

Don Alejandro and Rafael tisked over it a little, but Gilberto just shrugged and said, "Women. I am sure there is no way to understand them." Felipe thought he looked a little smug.

He cornered Gilberto after dinner, when Diego was trying to cheer Rafael up by showing him something odd he'd read in a book.

"What did you do to the woman?"

"I?" Gilberto looked at him innocently. "Why do you think I had anything to do with her?"

Felipe gave him his best stern look.

"Nothing!" he protested. "Well. Zorro paid her a visit."

Felipe nodded and waited for the rest of it.

"He invited her to run away with him."

"What! You can't want to marry her! You aren't that crazy."

Gilberto chuckled. "I didn't offer her _marriage_."

Felipe gasped. "Ruin her! You - cad!"

"Well, that was rather the point. I thought the silly cow should stop and reconsider what it means to give her heart to an outlaw."

Felipe gaped. "You are really horrible," he said admiringly. "What would you have done if she had agreed?"

Gilberto shuddered. "Ugh. Mocked her, I suppose. Or kissed her. Or run away."

Felipe rolled his eyes.

"It was better than Diego's plan!"

He couldn't argue with that.

Z

When Felipe returned to the parlor, he found Don Alejandro sitting alone: Margarita had come out to speak with Rafael and Diego had already retired. Worried, he hurried to Diego's room to find him in bed. The lamp was still lit and he was sitting up, but his eyes were closed and the book was face down in his lap. Uncertain if he was asleep, Felipe crept forward.

"I'm fine," Diego said. He opened his eyes.

Felipe sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Margarita came in, weeping...very apologetic...yet another dramatic little scene." He passed his hand over his eyes. "I assume Gilberto did something."

Felipe nodded.

"Appalling, I suppose?"

Felipe shrugged.

"Ah, well. Perhaps it will work out for the best."

Felipe nudged his leg. "Victoria isn't like her."

Diego pretended not to understand the point. "No, of course not. Victoria is very practical and a hard worker. And not given to temper tantrums or weeping." He shifted. "I'm a little tired. You can take the lamp, if you want?"

Fine then. Felipe couldn't make him see reason about Victoria. You couldn't _make_ someone see reason about anything. He collected the lamp and retreated to the sitting room.


	13. Dec 8, 1807

**Dec 8, 1807**

In the summer when the days were uncomfortably warm, the twins worked the ranch in the morning and studied during the afternoons. In the winter, when it was pleasant all day, Senor Alverez stayed only two days a week and his students did their assignments when their other work was finished. Today it was raining, and it had been lessons all morning.

It was no challenge at all anymore, keeping up with Diego in the schoolroom. In addition to all his own work, Diego insisted on supervising most of the child's education as well. It took a great deal of time and every bit of Diego's patience to do it. Especially lately. But Diego never complained about the work and rarely asked Senor Alverez for help or advice.

Just now, Diego was correcting the child's mathematics problems, while Gilberto had already started his translation assignment. "Now this isn't bad: 'Men decide far more problems by hate, love, lust, rage, sorrow, joy, hope, fear, illusion, or some other inward emotion, than by reality, authority, any legal standard, judicial precedent, or statute.' I don't know why you dislike Cicero so much. This seems very reasonable to me."

"It's not his pithy quotes I dislike." Diego answered absently. "It's his general attitude."

"General attitude? He's been dead for centuries. You might forgive him for his attitude."

Irritated, Diego shot him a sour look. "Since he's dead, he won't mind that I don't like him, so you _might_ stop trying to convince me he was incomparably virtuous. But then, I am 'impossible to please,' so don't let my opinion bother you."

"Oh, you aren't actually upset by what he said! Little children say things. It doesn't _matter_. Really, Diego."

"Don't start."

Gilberto raised a hand in surrender and went back to his translation. For a few minutes they worked in silence and then there was a patter of light feet in the hall and Felipe dashed into the little schoolroom. "Come!" he gestured excitedly. "Outside. Come see the rainbow."

Diego sighed and corrected, "'El' not 'La,' Felipe."

The child dropped his hands and froze for a moment. Gilberto winced. This was going to be another fight. It had stopped being funny sometime last week, and he found he didn't want to watch. But Felipe only spun on his heel and ran away.

Diego groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"The encoding lessons aren't going well, I see," Gilberto said.

"Shut up," Diego ground out.

"Well, someone's got to say something. This can't go on."

Diego slapped the table in frustration. "It must go on. It must. Felipe must have language-proper, real language. All thought, all learning, depends on that. I will not fail him. Even if it kills both of us...he must have language!"

Gilberto snorted. "The way you're going, it may _be_ the death of both of you."

"I've told you to stay out of it," Diego snapped.

"Diego, you must see - "

Diego pushed back his chair. "If you tell me I'm wasting my time, I'll come over there and feed you your teeth."

A fist fight might not knock any sense into Diego, but at this point it would feel pretty good. Still, Gilberto clamped down on his temper, carefully set down the quill, closed the inkwell, and rose to make a dignified exit. Diego was making his own bed, let him lie in it.

He made it half way to the door before he reconsidered. Father didn't understand the problem, Senor Alverez wasn't here often enough to see the scope of the problem, the servants - even if they would argue with Diego, he wouldn't listen. And this could not go on.

"Diego, you must see that this is wrong," he said softly.

"L'Eppe was very clear about the necessity of communication. Felipe doesn't understand yet, but surely you do. Language is the basis of all knowledge. If he is to get anywhere in life - "

"Nonsense. He _was_ communicating. He was learning. He was telling you all sorts of complicated things - "

"It is not enough that he speak to me! You know that. He must learn to read and write, to think in proper Castilian Spanish."

"Senor Alverez was satisfied with his progress reading and writing. Until last month." Gilberto gave him a pointed look.

Diego was trying to sound patient. "Felipe doesn't like it, that's all. He's being stubborn. He's upset. And I understand: it _is_ hard work. But he will adjust. He will."

"My God, how can you not see it? It isn't just his heart you're breaking with this encoding nonsense! It's his brain! You're turning his perfectly good language into a - a parody of correct Spanish. Of course he can't use it to _say_ anything. Imagine...here, imagine you were asking me to write a letter in Spanish but using Latin grammar rules. It wouldn't work. And this is just as absurd."

"The Methodical approach provides structure and grammar. Just signing isn't a language - " Diego began to protest, but Gilberto had heard this before and he was out of patience.

"What, because it doesn't have noun genders it isn't a real language? Plenty of 'real' languages don't have noun genders, and they get along just fine. The way you were talking to each other last summer, that was 'real.' You had conversations that did what language was supposed to do. But this - " Gilberto ran his hands through his hair. "Maybe literal encoding worked in French, I don't know. It doesn't work for us. That book of Spanish signs and techniques, _that_ was useful, but the other - "

"L'Eppe was the greatest teacher in Europe. He had over a hundred students. The Methodical approach - "

"L'Eppe was the first. That doesn't mean he was right about everything. Lots of pioneers make huge mistakes." Gilberto smirked "Take Columbus, for example. He discovered the new world, opened up the empire, all that. A magnificent achievement, unless you look at it from the perspective that _he thought he was going to India_! L'Eppe was wrong, Diego, he was wrong! And if you continue to blindly follow him, you will ruin that boy!"

Diego didn't answer that. Gilberto might have teased that he had finally found something that stunned his brother into silence, but he wasn't enjoying this argument and he only wanted it over.

"Diego?" he said at last. "Has it ever felt right? Ever? What does your heart tell you?"

Miserably, Diego went to stand at the window. "Surely...this is a decision to make with reason, not emotion."

"I don't see why. You don't have enough information to make a rational decision. The experience of one teacher? Working at one school? From there you generalize to all children, everywhere? Even if it worked as well as L'Eppe said...What do we know? We know it worked better than nothing. That's all." he shrugged.

"I want to give it up," Diego confessed. "I wish I'd never seen that book. But I can't sacrifice his future for my happiness."

"Why do you want to give it up?"

"Because it's awful!" Diego groaned. "It's awkward and artificial and distorted - worse than a waste of time! And he looks at me as though I have betrayed him. Mother of God, what am I going to do?"

"Well, first you're going to have to find him. And then you are going to explain and apologize for your lapse in judgment."

"He'll never forgive me, 'Berto..." Diego whispered.

"Oh, you are so thick. He would forgive you if you beat him every Tuesday and Saturday. Stop moping and go get him."

_End _


End file.
